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First   Edition 


THE  PENALTY  AND 
REDEMPTION 


By 

GEORGE  MILES  WHITE 
Author  of 

"FROM  BONIFACE  TO  BANK 
BURGLAR" 


In  "The  Penalty  and   Redemption"  is  Related  the 

Remarkable  Story  of  the  Conversion  from  Sin  of 

the   Author   Through   the  McAuley  Water 

Street  Mission,  Who  Was  Known  in 

the  World  of  Criminals  as  George 

Miles,     alias     Bliss,     alias 

Williams,  Etc. 

George    Miles    White    Projected   the  Great  Ocean 
Bank  Robbery  from  Which  He  and  His  Confed- 
erate Mark  Shinbnrn  Obtained  Nearly  Two 
and  a   Half  Millions  of  Dollars. 


THE  SEABOARD  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK,  N.  Y. 

1907 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


Copyright,  1907 
By  the  Seaboard  Publishing  Company. 


Printed  by 

The  Seaboard  Press, 

New  York  City,  N.  Y., 

U.  S.  A. 


Penalty   and   Redemption 


CONTENTS 

Chapter. 

I  Breaking  From  Bondage 

II  In  Durance  Vile 

III  The  Passing  of  Tom  Baker 

IV  Triumph  Over  Disappointment. 
V  In  the  Light  Patch. 

VI  On  to  the  Port  of  Dispair. 

VII  The  Grafting  Chaplain. 

VIII  Peter  James  and  Others. 

IX  Always  to  Me  the  "Little  Mother 

X  God's  Light  Athwart  the  Gloom 

XI  Skelly— Just  Plain  Skelly. 

XII  The  Banker  and  the  Ex-Burglar. 

XIII  Shadows  and  Sunshine. 

XIV  The  Penalty. 


Penalty  and   Redemption 


ILLUSTRATIONS  DIRECTORY 


George  Miles  White  .         .         Frontispiece 

Samuel  Hopkins  Hadley       ....         8 

Sing  Sing  Prison,  Ossining,  N.  Y.         .         .       18 

Bread  Line  at  the  McAuley  Mission  on  a 
Christmas  Day 44 

The  Chair  and  the  Sofa  in  the  Mission 
Room  where  Mr.  White  had  the  Memor- 
able Meeting  with  S.  H.  Hadley — Supt. 
Wyburn  observed  Talking  to  the  Author  64 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wyburn,  co-laborers  in  the 
Work  of  Redeeming  the  Lost  .  .  72 

Mrs.  Maud  Ballington  Booth,  the  "Little 
Mother" 102 

John  H.  Wyburn,  Superintendent  of  the 
McAuley  Mission 142 

The  Meeting  Room  where  Mr.  Rafter  was 
Converted — He  is  seen  sitting  at  the  left 
of  Supt.  Wyburn,  who  stands  behind  the 
desk 154 

A  Christmas  Scene  in  the  McAuley  Mission     158 

Facsimile  of  the  Pardon  granted  to  Mr.  White 
by  Theodore  Roosevelt,  as  Governor  of 
New  York  State 165 

Joseph  J.  Rafter,  the  Redeemed  Printer 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


FOREWORD 

Remarkable  indeed  is  the  story  of  the  conver- 
sion to  God  of  George  Miles  White  as  related  by 
him  in  this  volume.  It  is  perhaps  the  most  inter- 
esting turning  to  God  of  the  latter-day  great  sin- 
ners, and  an  all-powerful  and  convincing  example 
of  what  the  Divine  One  is  willing  to  do  for  a 
truly  repentant  man.  Mr.  White  is  an  eleventh 
hour  convert  whose  daily  life  is  never  so  en- 
grossed with  temporal  things  that  he  forgets  how 
narrow  was  his  escape  from  everlasting  con- 
demnation. And  with  him  every  conscious  hour 
is  the  settled  conviction  that  he  is  paying  the 
penalty  of  his  hitherto  lawlessness,  in  the  knowl- 
edge of  his  ability  to  devote  only  a  fragment 
of  a  misspent  life  to  the  service  of  God  for  his 
boundless  mercy. 

In  the  matter  of  worldly  possessions  he  is 
absolutely  poor,  yet  he  feels  rich  in  the  full  real- 
ization that  God  has  forgiven  him.  He  is  able 
to  know  this  regardless  of  the  fact  that  a  great 
fortune,  accrued  as  a  burglar,  has  been  swept 
away  like  dust  in  the  teeth  of  a  gale.  And  the 
deprivation  of  that  fortune  he  does  not  accept  as 
a  punishment.  He  is  glad  that  the  fruit  of  his 
wickedness  has  gone  from  him  forever.  Wealth 


\ 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


of  such  origin  would  only  create  horror  in  his 
soul  now.  Rather  he  would  be  a  doorkeeper  in 
the  Jerry  McAuley  Water  Street  Mission,  whence 
the  first  seed  of  Christianity  were  sowed  in  his 
heart  through  the  instrumentality  of  the  late  Sam- 
uel H.  Hadley.  From  this  godly  man's  lips  came 
the  words,  "Remember,  man,  remember  my 
brother,  that  some  day  you'll  have  to  stand  face 
to  face  with  Jesus  Christ!"  This  warning  came 
to  Mr.  White  while  he  was  in  the  Cell  of  a  Police 
Station  many  months  later,  but  with  such  power 
as  to  strike  terror  to  his  soul. 

The  Author  has  not  spared  himself  in  the  chap- 
ters following.  He  wants  the  world  to  know 
how  wicked  he  was  that  it  may  the  more  truly 
realize  how  vast  is  the  love  of  God  and  how  long- 
suffering  He  is. 

HARRY  ARISTIDES  DAYTON. 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


BREAKING 

FROM 
BONDAGE 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


CHAPTER  I. 

BREAKING   FROM   BONDAGE. 

Life's  December  was  upon  me — sowing  to  the 
winci,  I  had  harvested  the  whirlwind ! 

Pandering  to  crime,  it  had  me  firmly  in  its  octo- 
pus grasp!  Struggling,  gigantically,  to  free 
myself  from  it,  I  had  become  bruised  and  lacer- 
ated, as  it  were,  yet,  withal,  horribly  enthralled! 

My  conscience,  never  entirely  destroyed,  but 
benumbed,  vague,  cried  out  as  it  did  when  I 
made  the  first  fatal  step  down  to  the  broad, 
alluring  road  of  crime! 

Was  the  awful  gloom  but  a  signpost  of  ap- 
proach to  that  inevitable  world  of  terror  through 
which  a  criminal,  ripe  with  time,  must  pass  in 
his  progress,  his  final  steppings  to  the  grave? 
Oh,  God!  how  cold  were  the  walls  of  my  place 
of  bondage  on  that  night,  yet,  they  were  not 
colder  than  my  trembling  hands !  And  my  brow, 
too — it  was  beaded  with  a  sweat  like  that  of 
death.  My  dulled  brain  was  a  mere  toy  of 
unrest.  My  heart  throbs  were  sluggish,  and  my 
heart,  sore  with  an  unknown,  mysterious  force, 
seemed  to  be  wedged  as  in  a  relentless  vise,  which 
was  as  cruel  as  the  rough-hewn  bench-bed,  upon 
which  my  old  bones  ground  painfully ! 

Sleep,  which  I  cherished  by  day  and  looked 
for  to  soothe  me  at  night,  as  a  respite  from  the 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


haunting  fears  that  tormented  me,  was  still  more 
distant  when  twilight  came  only  to  fade  into  the 
fulness  of  night.  And,  had  sleep  mercifully  vis- 
ited me,  of  what  avail  would  it  have  been?  If, 
perchance,  I  could  have  slept,  dreams  would 
have  come  to  remind  me,  in  greater  measure, 
of  the  enormity  of  my  myriad  crimes.  These 
would  have  moved  in  ghastly  parade,  in  pano- 
ramic view  through  my  brain,  and  voices, 
accusing  and  just,  would  have  cried  insistently, 
that  "retribution"  had  come.  In  no  manner, 
seemingly,  could  I  discover  the  peace  that  should 
be  the  certain  heritage  of  old  age. 

There  was  I,  destitute,  friendless,  accused  and 
accursed!  And,  bending  under  the  weight  of 
crushing  years,  my  wealth  was  gone  like  the  dis- 
sipated sunshine  of  my  youth.  Speeding  to  the 
grave,  on  to  the  sublime  unknown,  there  was 
none  to  succor  me,  and  none  to  offer  hope  or 
cheer. 

Accused,  I  was  guilty,  and  must,  alas!  face 
the  consequences.  The  curtain,  whose  dropping 
on  my  life  was  imminent,  found  me  pursued  by 
a  merciless  law  that  sought  its  victims  among 
the  poor,  and  being  poor,  I  must  pay  the  price! 
Recorded  as  an  outlaw,  an  enemy  of  the  com- 
monwealth, yet  I  was  scourged  with  a  conscience 
that  would  not  altogether  down.  It  was  like  the 
raw,  bleeding  flesh,  being  seared  by  the  white- 
heated  iron  fresh  from  the  blacksmith's  fire. 

I  could  not  sleep  though  my  brain  was  sorely 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


fagged,  and  my  body  woefully  sapped  of  strength. 
I  groaned  because  the  dim  light  in  the  white- 
washed corridor,  just  outside  my  Cell,  was  not 
extinguished,  so,  mayhap,  I  could  court  sleep. 
It's  fitfulness,  with  each  stirring  breeze,  was  but 
a  background  of  half  yellow,  against  which 
strange,  and  yet  not  strange,  shadows  curled  and 
twisted  into  weird  but  shapely  creatures,  that, 
vanishing,  reappeared,  misshapen,  like  unto  repul- 
sive, creeping  things!  These  shadows  tortured 
me!  They  ground  my  soul,  spelled  all  sorts  of 
fears,  painted  in  a  masterly  hand  living  pictures 
which  filled  me  with  a  nameless  horror!  And 
again  they  conjured  up  forms,  which,  speaking, 
called  me  back  to  other  days  and  things  I  would 
have  forever  forgotten. 

Oh,  for  the  coming  of  another  day!  Better  it 
and  whatever  would  befall  me,  than  the  torments 
of  the  night.  Better  to  face  the  inevitable,  the 
legally  paved  and  certain  route  to  the  State 
Prison  Cell  for  which  I  was  destined.  Anything 
to  escape,  even  momentarily,  from  the  realized 
hell  of  a  present,  that  was  fraught  with  a  yet 
living  conscience,  that  would  not  die  quickly,  but 
burned  and  burned,  until  I  was  bordering  on  a 
state  of  madness. 

I  felt  a  sensation,  which,  I  apprehend,  must 
be  sensed  by  the  living  human  brain  imprisoned 
in  the  paralyzed  clay  of  the  body.  A  numbness 
had  me  within  its  dreaded  grasp,  and  I  wondered 
if  it  were  the  herald  of  death's  foreclosure  of  its 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


certain  claim  upon  my  poor  body !  I  was  stricken 
with  an  indescribable  terror.  I  cried  for  God 
to  spare  me ! 

"See!"  I  pleaded,  "see!  I  am  on  my  knees 
before  Thee !  Beside  this  Prison  bed  I  ami  pouring 
out  my  agony !  Have  mercy  on  me,  oh,  my  God,  if 
Thou  canst!  The  great  wall  of  crime  which  I 
have,  in  the  long  years,  builded  between  Thee,  all 
that  is  good  pure  and  holy  and  me,  is  closing 
down  upon  me.  My  eyes  seem  to  be  sightless — 
I  am  in  utter  darkness!  Hope  is  swallowed  by 
despair,  self-confidence  transformed  into  abject 
fear,  scoffing  turned  into  the  full  knowledge  that 
Thou,  God,  commandest  the  earth,  and  that  the 
wages  of  sin  must  be  paid " 

A  voice,  thick  with  a  night's  debauch,  then 
half-shrill  and  expressive  of  rage,  shocked  me — 
the  voice  of  a  woman  whose  Cell  joined  mine 
next  but  one. 

She  had  blasphemed  the  name  of  the  Lord 
Jesus  in  a  manner  to  interrupt  my  agony  of  fear, 
and  send  a  thrill  of  horror  through  me.  Why 
this  should  affect  me,  to  whom  oaths  had  long 
been  a  familiar  practice,  I  could  not  tell!  I  felt 
a  keen  sense  of  pain,  and  could  have  cried  aloud, 
so  poignant  was  my  mental  distress.  Even  in 
the  unusual  experience  of  the  moment,  I  mar- 
velled at  it. 

"Woman,  beware!"  I  was  on  the  point  of 
saying,  when  her  blatant  tongue  sent  forth  fur- 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


ther  sentences,  each  one  prefaced  with  the 
Saviour's  name.  It  was  horrible! 

"  Say,  you  thievin'  coppers  want  two-thirds  of 
every  dollar  we  women  earns ! "  I  heard  her  say 
between  drunken  sobs.  "  Why  can't  y'u  be  satis- 
fied with  th'  bit  that  'u'd  be  square  an'  right? 
Y'u  ought  t'  be  'shamed  t'  take  blood-money  of 
women  an'  with  a  home  an'  a  wife  an'  young — " 

Her  voice  was  here  choked  off,  and  I  heard 
sounds  of  a  struggle  on  the  cement  floor.  Then 
a  man's  voice,  low,  tense  and  filled  with  sup- 
pressed rage,  reached  me. 

"  Shut  yer  infernal  wobbly  jaw,  Diamond  Nell, 
or  I'll  swat  ye  another  hard  one  for  company ! " 
came  from  his  coarse  lips,  which  must  have  been 
quivering  with  brutish  anger.  Then  once  more 
I  heard  her: 

"  Swat  an'  be ,  an'  I  still  say  y'u  dirty  thiev- 
in' cops  want,  take  an'  keep  more  'an  y'ur  bit !  " 

It  seemed  as  if  she  had  half  wrenched  her 
throat  from  his  grasp,  for  her  tones  were  yet 
guttural,  and  all  but  inaudible  to  me.  There  was 
another  sound  as  of  a  blow  on  the  face,  and  I 
knew  by  it  that  he  had  again  lifted  his  cruel  hands 
against  her.  I  would  have  protested,  but  how 
powerless  I  was.  I  wondered  why  someone  of 
the  officers  in  the  nearby  waiting-room  did  not 
come  in  and  put  an  end  to  this  brutality.  Or, 
was  it  a  scene  of  nightly  occurrence,  a  part  of  the 
midnight  act  in  a  Metropolitan  Police  Station- 
house?  These  telegraphic  thoughts  crowded  on 


Penalty  ana  Redemption 


me,  only  to  be  interrupted  again  by  the  woman's 
voice.  She  screamed  until  the  corridor  echoed. 

"  Don't  y'u  strike  me  again,  Jim !  Jim — oh — oh 
—  oh!  y'u  brute!"  cried  the  miserable  creature. 
Lifting  her  tones  yet  higher  and  shriller,  she 
mingled  the  Saviour's  name  with  the  vilest  of 
words,  until  every  fiber  in  me  revolted  at  the 
sacrilege.  Then  she  went  on : 

"  Remember,  Jim !  remember !  y'u  devil — y'u 
an'  me  '11  be  face  t'  face  with  th'  judge  in  th' 
mornin',  an'  then,  mark  me,  y'u'll  repent  this 
night's  work,  by " 

Her  words  died  away  suddenly,  and  it  was 
not  necessary  for  me  to  be  on  the  scene  to  know 
that  the  policeman's  hand  had  closed  on  her  throat 
again,  and  rendered  her  speechless. 

His  voice  penetrated  my  Cell  once  more,  and 
I  gathered  from  his  words,  and  her  violent  weep- 
ing, that  he  had  broken  the  spirit  which  had 
been  rendered  unusually  defiant  by  reason  of  her 
drunken  condition.  Presently  I  heard  him  close 
her  Cell  door  and  go  his  way. 

May  I  never  again  be  a  witness  to  another 
such  awful  enactment.  It  was  terrible  and  the 
effect  upon  me  was  electrical.  The  blasphemy 
which  fell  from  this  fallen  creature's  lips  had 
aroused  memories  which,  for  months,  had  been 
in  abeyance.  The  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ 
on  her  polluted  lips,  struck  a  chord  that  rent  my 
soul,  quickened  my  sluggish  heart,  and  pricked 
my  benumbed  sensibilities.  Her  moans  and 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


sobs  over  the  loss  of  blood-money,  the  price 
of  her  shame,  stirred  me  equally  as  did  the 
cupidity  in  the  unspeakable  policeman  for  the 
money,  aroused  my  sense  of  the  horrible!  But 
neither  of  these  moved  me  like  her  profanation  of 
the  name  of  Jesus,  supplemented  by  the  threat 
that  there  would  be  a  penalty  awaiting  her  tor- 
mentor when  they  were  face  to  face  with  the 
judge  in  the  morning! 

"Remember,  Jim,  remember,  y'u  devil — y'u  an' 
me  '11  be  face  t'  face  with  th'  judge  in  th'  mornin', 
an',  then,  mark  me,  y'u  '11  repent  this  night's 
work,  by " 

Like  a  flash  I  was  carried  back  to  the  last 
time  I  was  incarcerated  in  Sing  Sing  Prison  at 
Ossining,  N.  Y.  I  saw  there  the  kindly  face  of 
a  man  whose  words  impressed  me  as  I  had  never 
been  before — the  face  of  Samuel  Hopkins 
Hadley! 

This  was  on  the  platform  in  the  chapel  some 
time  during  the  summer  of  1898.  That  he  was 
a  man  of  God  I  did  not'  then  doubt,  little  as  I 
cared  about  it.  I  did  feel  that  the  man,  his 
words,  and  his  works  bespoke  a  practical  reli- 
gion. His  God,  he  said,  was  the  Convict's  God, 
and  he  held  out  hope  in  the  temporal,  as  well 
as  the  spiritual  life.  He  declared  that  this  hope 
was  firmly  anchored  in  the  free,  simple  religion 
of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

Mr.  Hadley  made  frequent  and  welcome  visits 
to  Sing  Sing,  and  that  they  were  errands  of 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


mercy,  I  have  never  doubted.  At  a  meeting  in  the 
chapel,  about  two  months  before  my  discharge, 
my  interest  was  unusually  excited.  And,  really, 
1  could  not  help  it — his  influence  on  this  occa- 
sion being  so  powerful  that  I  felt  a  compulsion 
to  know  him  better.  After  the  meeting  he  greeted 
me  royally,  and  I  was  not  sorry  for  having  gone 
to  him.  And,  besides,  he  told  me  more  about  this 
simple  religion,  in  which  he  claimed  to  be  an 
earnest,  though  not  infallible  worker. 

"When  you  leave  Prison,  come  to  the  Jerry 
McAuley  Mission  and  see  me,"  he  said  at  the 
termination  of  the  interview,  meanwhile  shaking 
my  hand  heartily.  There  was  something  in  the 
clear,  piercing  eyes  of  this  man  of  God,  which  told 
plainly  of  the  goodness  of  his  soul.  And  he 
had  not  always  been  thus!  Once  he  was  a 
miserable  drunkard  without  hope  of  reforma- 
tion— an  outcast  of  society! 

Perhaps  this  knowledge  attracted  me  to  him 
more  than  anything  else.  I,  too,  was  a  slave 
to  an  appetite  for  strong  drink,  a  no  small  factor 
in  shaping  the  crooked  paths  of  my  life.  I  re- 
called too,  of  wondering  how  it  was  possible,  in 
any  way,  for  Samuel  H.  Hadley,  or  any  other 
man,  to  inspire  religious  interest  in  me,  the  great- 
est of  sinners  and  drunkards,  whose  reformation 
was  reckoned  among  the  impossibilities. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Hadley,"  I  had  promised  him,  "I'll 
call  at  the  Mission,  and  let  me  thank  you  for  the 


8 


Samuel  Hopkins  Hadley 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


interest  you  are  taking  in  me.  Where  is  the 
Mission  ?" 

"At  No.  316  Water  Street,  New  York,"  he 
said. 

But  the  seed  he  sowed  for  me  then,  fell  on  soil 
that  was  none  too  fertile,  for  years  in  crime  had 
rendered  me  hardened  against  religious  impres- 
sions. I  had  always,  from  my  youth  up,  per- 
sistently resisted  the  mellowing  influences  of 
Christianizing  effort.  Indeed,  the  tares  had 
waxed  luxuriant,  nurtured  by  the  criminal  ten- 
dencies to  which  I  catered  in  the  process  of  ac- 
cumulating wealth.  Little  wonder,  therefore, 
that  the  stout  growth  of  these  tares  left  scant 
sustenance  for  the  nourishment  of  good  seed. 

But  I  did  not  forget  Mr.  Hadley's  invitation, 
and,  one  day  in  the  summer  of  1899,  found  me 
inquiring  for  him  at  the  Jerry  McAuley  Mission. 
It  was  not  necessary  to  make  known  my  identity, 
for  he  recognized  me  at  once. 

"You  are  George  White !"  he  said,  with  a  sim- 
plicity, frankness,  and  cordiality,  that  immedi- 
ately warmed  into  my  best  nature.  Then  he  gave 
me  the  free  hand  of  real,  true  fellowship. 

I  have  a  faithful,  mental  picture  of  that  meet- 
ing, which  I  never  want  to  forget.  The  same 
couch  upon  which  he  bade  me  sit,  and  the  chair 
in  which  he  sat  facing  me,  are  in  the  Mission  to 
this  day !  I  can  see  him  now,  sitting  in  his  chair, 
and  hear  his  deep-toned  voice  utter  language  as 
elementary  as  it  was  forceful. 


Penalty  ana  Redemption 


"Are  you  a  true  Christian?"  he  bluntly  asked 
me,  and  I  caught  my  breath  with  the  suddenness 
of  it. 

"Yes,"  was  my  hesitating  reply,  but  I  knew  I 
lied.  Why  I  made  this  false  answer  is  a  mystery 
yet  unsolved,  unless  it  was  in  my  mind  to  claim 
a  religion  that  was  of  the  head  and  not  of  the 
heart,  as  I  have  heard  it  described.  Perhaps, 
too,  I  arrogated  to  myself  the  right  to  thus  reply, 
founding  it  on  the  fact  that  I  was  a  member  of 
a  prominent  church  in  New  York  City.  As  for 
being  a  true  disciple  of  Christ,  one  of  the  heart 
and  not  of  the  head  alone,  that  I  knew  I  was  not. 
There  was  deception  in  me  therefore,  when  I  told 
him  I  was  a  true  Christian.  To  say  that  I  was 
abashed  but  faintly  portrays  my  feelings. 

Mr.  Hadley  being  a  plain  man,  gave  me  a 
sharp  talk,  in  steel-like  words.  He  did  not  mince 
them  in  expressing  his  opinion  of  non-Christians, 
alcoholic  drink,  and  drunkards.  He  said  that 
self-respect,  aside  from  the  duty  a  man  owed 
his  Maker,  demanded  the  rennunciation  of  sin, 
and  all  intoxicating  beverages.  A  drunkard,  like 
a  sinner,  he  declared,  was  offensive  to  God,  and 
could  not  enter  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven. 

But  it  was  Mr.  Hadley's  concluding  sentence 
which  fixed  my  attention.  It  pierced  my  soul  in 
a  startling  way,  and  was  the  means  of  giving  me 
the  first  real  conception  of  the  divine  warning, 
"Prepare  to  meet  thy  God!" 

"Remember,  man!"  said  he,  "remember,  my 


10 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


brother,  that  some  day  you'll  have  to  stand  face 
to  face  with  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ !" 

And  soon  after  my  sinful  heart  had  been 
charged  with  this  awful  injunction,  I  left  Mr. 
Hadley  and  the  Mission.  Shall  I  say  it  was  with 
a  determination  to  be  a  better  man?  I  think  so, 
but,  as  I  have  said,  crime  had  hardened  me,  and 
soon  his  warning  was  a  forgotten  sound. 

But  wondrous  and  mysterious  are  the  ways  of 
God! 

The  words  of  this  good  man  of  the  Mission 
glowed  in  my  soul  that  night,  as  I  listened  to  the 
weeping  of  the  abandoned  woman  drunkard  in 
the  nearby  Cell.  I  saw  them  as  though  they  were 
scrawled  on  the  walls  of  my  Cell  in  living  letters 
of  electrical  brilliance. 

And  then  and  there  with  the  knowledge  which 
conies  but  once  in  a  lifetime,  I  sensed  the  pres- 
ence of  the  hour,  in  which  I  must  make  the  final 
choice.  I  had  reached  the  dividing  line,  the  ulti- 
matum between  sin  and  righteousness.  I  felt  that 
I  was  to  renounce  sin  forthwith  or  be  damned, 
and  forever  shut  away  from  the  face  of  God. 

I  had  ridden  rough-shod  in  defiance  of  my 
Maker,  until  He  had  brought  me  up  short  to  the 
crossing.  I  must  decide  whether  I  would  go  on 
—  on  to  destruction,  on  to  everlasting  damnation, 
or  on  to  eternal  life,  where  sin  is  not,  and  peace 
reigns  tranquil  as  the  depths  of  the  vast  ocean. 

At  first  I  did  not  fathom  the  reason  for  my 
being  brought  face  to  face  with  the  inevitable 


11 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


so  suddenly.  Then  it  came  with  the  strength 
of  an  avalanche,  and  with  the  rapidity  of  thought. 
God  had  employed  the  lips  of  an  unclean  woman 
to  point  me  out  the  way  of  salvation ! 

"  Remember,  Jim !"  she  said,  "remember,  y'u 
devil — y'u  an'  me  '11  be  face  t'  face  with  th'  judge 
in  th'  mornin' !"  , 

Like  the  explosion  of  a  bomb  would  rend 
things,  these  words  from  a  miserable  woman  of 
the  streets,  cried  to  a  wretched  brute  of  a  police- 
man, opened  up  in  my  memory  Mr.  Hadley's 
warning.  Had  such  an  agency  ever  before  been 
used  to  awaken  an  immortal  soul  to  its  impending 
danger  I  could  not  say — I  only  knew  that  from 
the  woman's  evil,  thoughtless  tongue  had  been 
projected  the  unerring  lance  of  truth.  It  pierced 
my  hard  heart,  and  turned  me  from  the  unpar- 
donable sin. 

"Oh  God,  merciful  One!"  I  pleaded,  in  abject 
humility,  "at  last  I  am  indeed  face  to  face  with 
Thee,  and  Thy  blessed  Son  the  world's  Saviour. 
And  now,  oh,  hear  my  broken  prayer !  Oh !  God, 
as  Thou  didst  in  the  eleventh  hour  save  the  thief 
on  the  cross,  so  wilt  Thou  also  save  me  in  the 
name  of  Jesus,  Whose  precious  blood  was  shed 
for  the  sake  of  the  vilest  of  sinners,  of  which  I  am 
one! 

"Through  Thy  servant',  Mr.  Hadley,  Thou 
didst  once  offer  me  salvation,  but  I  spurned  it 
and  Thee,  and  Thy  blood  sacrifice!  And  now, 
wonderfully,  and  no  less  mercifully,  Thou  hast 


12 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


spoken  to  me  again,  this  time  through  the  lips  of 
the  unclean,  and  my  soul  hath  hearkened!  Oh 
God,  I  am  such  a  miserable  sinner  before  Thee! 
Hear  me,  I  beseech  Thee!  Create  within  me  a 
new,  a  clean  heart — wash  away  my  manifold  sins, 
and  make  out  of  me  what  Thou  canst! 

"In  youth,  when  my  sisters  and  brothers  gave 
themselves  to  Thee,  I  scorned  Thy  love,  and  bade 
Thee  depart  from  iiie  forever.  It  appeared  to  me 
then,  that  I  had  well-nigh  committed  the  unpar- 
donable sin,  for  my  understanding  of  Thy  law 
was  clear.  Full  pardon  was  offered  me,  but  I 
rejected  it  as  haughtily  as  it  was  freely  extended. 
Now  I  have  come  with  a  lifetime  of  sin. 

"Even  this  moment  I  am  before  Thee,  with  a 
fresh  stain  on  my  soul,  and  for  which  I  must  yet 
pay  the  penalty  on  earth,  in  accordance  with  the 
law  of  man.  And,  oh  God,  I  ask  mercy  and 
pardon  of  Thee — not  for  the  body,  but  for  the 
soul !  With  only  a  fragment  remaining  of  an  ill- 
spent  life,  I  still  ask  for  mercy,  and  wilt  Thou 
give  it  to  me? 

"As  I  kneel  before  Thee,  the  enormity  and 
quality  of  my  sins  appall  me.  For  years  and 
years,  Prison  walls  and  bars,  held  no  terror  for 
me.  Outlawed  by  man,  I  found  delight  and 
pride  in  outwitting  man,  when,  in  doing  it,  I 
garnered  gold.  Steeped  in  the  blackness  of  sin,  I 
have,  hitherto,  forgotten  Thee,  nor  have  I  cared. 

"But  to-night  I  am  face  to  face  with  Thee. 
The  teachings  of  my  youth  are  coming  down 


13 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


over  the  sins  of  years,  only  to  awaken  the 
memory  of  the  prayers  of  my  dear  mother,  my 
noble  father,  and  later,  those  of  my  beloved  wife ! 
They,  all,  everyone,  were  Thy  servants,  who, 
hearing  Thy  call,  answered  gladly,  and  were 
gathered  to  Thy  merciful  bosom! 

"Oh  Jesus,  Thou  who  didst  die  on  the  cross 
for  the  sake  of  the  child  of  reason  and  the  aged 
man  in  sin,  is  there  yet  time  in  which  I  may  be 
saved?  Has  the  glad  hour  which  saw  the  salva- 
tion that  Thou  didst  assure  to  the  dying  thief  on 
the  cross,  passed  for  me?  As  the  thief  on  the 
cross  pleaded  with  Thee  for  the  salvation  of  his 
guilty  soul,  so  do  I,  as  great  a  thief  as  he,  now 
plead  with  Thee  to  cleanse  away  my  sins,  and 
make  me  free  in  the  possession  of  Thy  love  and 
forgiveness ! 

"I  remember  from  my  childhood  days,  some- 
what of  Thy  messages  in  the  Holy  Writ.  Thou 
didst  say  to  all  mankind,  'Ask  and  ye  shall  re- 
ceive; seek  and  ye  shall  find.'  I  am  asking  to- 
night, oh  blessed  Jesus,  and,  being  repentant  for 
my  misdeeds,  shall  I  find  Thee?  Hearken,  oh! 
Jesus,  to  the  prayers  of  my  mother,  my  father, 
my  wife,  which,  I  feel,  are  coming  up  before 
Thee,  as  my  prayer  even  now  is  being  lifted  to 
Thee.  I  am  truly,  sincerely  repentant.  Let  the 
prayers  and  the  tears  of  my  beloved  ones,  shed 
on  earth,  and  their  prayers  now  before  Thy 
throne,  mediate  for  me!  Let  these  tears  that 
dim  my  fading  eyes,  and  wet  my  time-lined 


14 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


cheeks,  and  which  melt  my  soul,  laying  it  bare 
before  Thee,  plead  for  me  and  wash  my  sins 
away,  even  as  Thy  precious  blood  was  shed  that 
all  sinners  might  forsake  their  sins  and  accept 
the  glories  of  Thy  salvation! 

"My  tears  will  not  cease  to  flow.  But  the  Cell 
does  not  seem  so  dark,  and  there  has  come  over 
me  a  new  consciousness,  a  feeling  of  trust  and 
blissful  rest.  I  know  not  what  it  is,  oh  God, 
unless  it  be  that  Thou  hast  searched  my  heart, 
and,  finding  me  broken  and  contrite,  hast  for- 
given me.  There  is  indeed,  a  peace  settling  upon 
me,  the  like  of  which  I  have  never  known.  The 
arrogance  that  has  ruled  in  all  my  life  is  gone. 
See!  I  am  humble,  pleading!  Teach  me  Thy 
way,  for  I  am  ready,  and  will  follow  Thee,  will- 
ingly! And,  command  me!  oh  merciful  God! 
If  Thou  wilt  put  the  heaviest  cross  upon  me,  I 
will  go  before  the  whole  world,  and  confess  my 
open  and  secret  sins,  that  all  may  know  of  my 
repentance,  and  learn  of  Thy  power  to  save  me, 
the  worst  of  sinners!  Oh,  God  in  Heaven,  I 
thank  Thee  for  salvation!" 

"Come,  wake  up  there,  you  old  crook!  Hoist 
yourself  quicker !  What — on  your  knees  ?  Well, 

I'll  be  !  Drunk,  are  you?  Or,  maybe 

you  're  praying!  Come,  up  with  you!" 

I  heard  these  words  indistinctly.  Then  a 
resounding  blow,  from  a  heavy  hand,  brought  me 
to  consciousness.  My  eyes  opened  to  daylight. 
Straightway  I  remembered  all,  and  a  rush  of 


15 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


joy  flooded  me.  What  a  blessed,  good  world  I 
seemed  to  be  in !  Yes,  God  had  not  only  forgiven 
me,  but  He  had,  also,  mercifully  given  me  sleep. 
The  full  realization  of  the  change  in  my  life  filled 
my  soul.  So  this  was  the  peace  that  "passeth  all 
understanding,"  of  which  I  had  heard.  It  had 
come  to  me,  too,  in  the  Cell  of  a  Police  Station — 
in  the  Twenty-second  Precinct  of  New  York 
City,  the  scene  of  the  boldest  and  most  desperate 
misdeed  of  my  criminal  experience. 

I  arose  from  my  kneeling  posture  beside  the 
crude  bench  which  had  answered  for  a  bed,  as 
quickly  as  my  stiffened  old  joints  would  permit  me. 

"I've  been  saved!"  I  said,  to  the  doorman, 
smilingly,  for  he  had  entered  the  Cell,  and,  find- 
ing me  kneeling,  had  awakened  me. 

"Huh!"  he  grunted. 

"You  won't  mind  if  I  pray,  will  you  ?"  I  asked ; 
"you  found  me  asleep !" 

"I'll  have  to  stay  here  while  you  do  it!"  He 
said  this  rather  gruffly.  I  thought  he  suspected  I 
was  unbalanced,  and  might  do  myself  harm. 
However,  he  raised  no  objection. 

I  dropped  to  my  knees  again,  and  asked  God  to 
strengthen  me  for  the  ordeal  in  the  Police  Court 
through  which  I  must  go  in  a  few  minutes,  and 
that  I  be  empowered  to  withstand  any  temptation, 
small  or  great,  which  might  beset  me. 

The  doorman  watched  me  curiously  as  I  an- 
nounced myself  ready  to  proceed  with  him  to 
the  corridor.  There  the  patrolman  who  arrested 


16 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


me  the  night  before  took  me  in  charge,  and 
thence  I  proceeded  to  the  patrol-wagon,  standing 
in  front  of  the  Police  Station  door,  the  officer 
first  making  sure  I  was  securely  handcuffed  to 
him.  Knowing  my  reputation,  he  declined  to 
run  the  risk  of  losing  me.  And  I — I  was  re- 
signed. 

"Want  a  lawyer  when  you  get  to  court?"  he 
asked  as  we  drew  near  the  patrol-wagon. 

"No,"  I  said,  and  thanked  him. 

"Better !"  he  urged  dryly.  "A  crook  with  your 
record  will  get  about  all  the  law  provides  for  a 
second  or  third  offender.  You're  charged  with 
attempted  grand  larceny,  and  don't  you  take  your 
arrest  as  a  good,  fat  joke!  Yours  is  a  mighty 
lean  chance!" 

"Hardly  a  joke!"  I  told  him.  "I'm  surely 
guilty,  and  I'm  going  to  plead  that  way!"  The 
policeman  looked  at  me  doubtfully. 

"You  're  a  fool,  a fool !"  he  repeated,  with 

an  expletive.  "A  few  dollars  would  help  you  a  lot!" 

No  one  knew  the  efficacy  of  dollars  better  than 
I,  but  being  determined  to  pay  the  price  of  my 
last  crime,  I  made  no  answer. 

We  climbed  into  the  patrol-wagon.  There  had 
preceded  us,  the  patrolman,  Jim,  and  his  victim, 
the  unfortunate  woman  Diamond  Nell,  a  most 
wretched  appearing,  pitiful  thing. 

Conflicting  thoughts  occupied  me,  as  we  were 
whirled  along  toward  the  West  Side  Police 
Court,  several  blocks  further  uptown. 


17 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


CHAPTER  II. 

IN  DURANCE  VILE. 

A  long,  defiant  shriek  from  the  locomotive's 
whistle,  and,  presently,  the  train  rushed  up  to 
the  station,  where  it  stopped  with  a  series  of 
groans,  and  nerve-testing  creaks.  These  latter 
were  supplemented  by  the  hissing  of  the  air- 
brakes mechanism,  as  it  reluctantly  relaxed  its 
giant  grasp  of  the  throbbing  wheels. 

The  coach  doors  had,  meanwhile,  been  thrown 
open,  and  the  brakemen  in  their  automatic  voicing 
cried  out  that  we  had  arrived  at  Ossining,  N.  Y., 
the  home  of  Sing  Sing  Prison. 

To  many  of  the  passengers  the  place  had  no 
significance,  except  in  the  fact,  perhaps,  that  its 
name  had  been  changed  from  Sing  Sing  to  Os- 
sining. How  different  in  my  case! 

The  great,  gray-stone  Prison  walls  and  what 
they  hid  from  the  outside  world,  yawned  for  me. 
As  hopeful  and  as  brave  as  I  had  determined  to 
be,  nevertheless,  a  shudder  seized  me.  But  it 
was  only  for  an  instant,  and  then  I  was  strong 
and  steadfast  in  purpose  again. 

As  the  train  drew  away  from  the  station,  it 
left  seven  Convicts — minus  the  stripes — of  whom 
I  was  one,  standing  on  the  platform  of  the  station. 
The  keepers  who  had  us  in  charge  from  New 
York,  seemed  willing  to  gratify  us  with  a  linger- 


18 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


ing  gaze  at  the  last  coach,  as  it  vanished  in  the 
swirling  clouds  of  dust  and  blue-black  smoke. 

Just  for  a  moment  a  yearning  enwrapt  me  as 
a  warm  garment,  and  I  wished  that  I  was  free, 
like  those  other  passengers  now  rapidly  moving 
northward,  and  leaving  Sing  Sing  Prison  behind. 
But  what  the  thoughts  of  my  fellows  were,  I  will 
not  venture  to  guess.  Not  one  of  them  was 
happy.  Neither  did  any  of  them  assume  the  air 
of  bravado,  such  as  I  have  known  in  felons  en 
route  to  serve  their  sentences.  No,  we  were  a 
serious  seven. 

Presently  I  was  shaken  into  even  a  sterner 
realization  of  my  whereabouts,  by  our  keepers' 
command  to  march,  march,  march !  As  we  pro- 
ceeded along  the  railroad  tracks,  in  the  direction 
of  the  Prison,  now  and  again  tripping  over  a 
gnarled  tie,  I  could  not  avoid  contrasting  this 
mode  of  transit  with  that  of  my  trip  from  Sing 
Sing  depot  thirty  years  prior.  That  was  the  occa- 
sion of  my  very  first  conviction  for  a  crime. 

"Tall  Jim/'  Joe  Kingsland,  who  was  sometimes 
known  as  "Howard,"  and  I,  had  robbed  a  bank 
at  Adams,  N.  Y.,  and  had  been  sentenced  to 
Auburn  Prison  in  that  State,  for  ten  years  each. 
Then  I  was  possessed  of  a  fortune  accounted  as 
great.  Also  I  had  acquired  the  knowledge  that 
money  was  all-powerful,  even  though  it  was  at 
the  command  of  an  incarcerated  thief.  In  less 
than  five  weeks  after  the  beginning  of  my  con- 
finement at  Auburn,  I  had,  with  its  potency, 


19 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


opened  up  an  underground  communication  with 
friends  in  New  York,  and  had  found  out  who, 
among  the  Prison  officials,  were  susceptible  to 
bribes. 

Inspector  Fordyce  Laflin  was  in  charge  at  Sing 
Sing,  and  Inspector  Solomon  Sheu  at  Auburn  at 
that  time,  and  both  of  these  worthies  were  seek- 
ers after  money  of  this  kind.  They  soon  arranged 
for  my  transfer  to  Sing  Sing  for  $1,000.  That 
is,  I  paid  $1,000  to  Laflin,  but  both  inspectors 
were  in  the  deal.  This  change  was  to  be  made 
so  I  might  be  nearer  my  New  York  friends,  and 
in  Sing  Sing,  from  where  I  could  better  plan  for 
and  insure  my  escape. 

My  trip  from  Auburn  to  Sing  Sing  was  at- 
tended with  all  the  pomp  that  a  millionaire  usually 
commanded  in  those  days.  I  doffed  the  stripes, 
had  to  myself  a  stateroom  in  one  of  the  railway's 
finest  Pullman  coaches,  and  had  plenty  of  refresh- 
ments at  my  disposal.  When  the  train  reached 
Sing  Sing,  a  splendid  carriage  and  high-stepping 
horses  were  at  the  depot,  and  in  this  style  I 
rode  up  to  the  Prison  gate.  The  crowd  which 
usually  made  things  interesting  about  the  rail- 
road station,  no  doubt  conjectured  that  I  was  an 
highly  important  official  of  the  State.  Certain  it 
is,  I  was  not  thought  to  be  a  notorious  bank 
burglar. 

Therefore,  it  was  only  natural  that  I  should 
have  compared  my  former  entrance  to  Sing  Sing 
with  the  later  one,  emphasized  as  it  was  by  a 


20 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


ride  in  a  stuffy,  stifling  smoking-car,  handcuffed 
to  a  keeper,  followed  by  a  walk  to  the  Prison 
gate  over  railroad  ties,  subject  to  the  knowing 
gaze  of  curious  eyes. 

And  now  it  was  known  that  I  must  remain  in* 
carcerated  within  Prison  walls  until  the  comple- 
tion of  my  term  of  two  years  and  three  months. 
In  the  first  instance  I  had  come  with  the  knowl- 
edge that  I  was  soon  to  be  free  in  lieu  of  $40,000, 
for  Warden  Russell  and  Inspector  Laflin  had 
agreed  to  accept  $30,000,  and  the  remainder  was 
to  be  the  share  of  minor  officials  of  the  Prison, 
who  would  conveniently  shut  their  eyes  when  my 
plan  of  escape  matured.  Indeed,  four  days 
after  my  get-away,  I  did  meet  Laflin  and  Rus- 
sell in  my  room  at  the  Astor  House  in  New 
York,  and  paid  them  their  price.  More,  not  long 
after  that,  my  pals,  "Tall  Jim"  and  Joe  Kings- 
land,  were  transferred  from  Auburn  to  Sing  Sing, 
through  the  grace  of  Inspector  Sheu,  to  whom 
I  gave  $1,000,  and  a  five  hundred  dollar  diamond 
ring,  as  a  consideration.  "Tall  Jim"  and  Kings- 
land  subsequently  made  their  escape,  all  of  which 
must  impress  one  with  the  fact,  that  the  Prison 
officials  involved,  were  not  serving  the  State 
entirely  for  their  health. 

These  ugly  reminiscences  were  displaced  by 
the  cold  fact  that  our  squad  of  seven  was  at  the 
Prison  gate,  which  was  emphasized  by  the  shock 
of  withdrawing  bolts,  and  the  clank,  clank  of  the 
great  gate-latch.  In  a  moment  the  batch  of  seven 


21 


Penalty  ana  Redemption 


"fresh  ones"  was  "tramp,  tramp,  tramping" 
along  the  flagstone  walk,  and  on  to  the  dingy, 
forbidding  main  hall  of  the  Prison. 

I  had  no  need  to  be  reminded  of  the  lot  of  the 
felon,  yet  there  on  the  wall,  and  about  the  first 
thing  to  meet  my  eyes,  were  the  Scriptural  words : 

"The  way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard!" 

Yes,  there  was  truth  for  me! 

But  I  did  not  shut  the  words  from  my  vision, 
nor  had  I  any  wish  to,  and  had  I  desired  to  forget 
the  divine  injunction,  I  doubt  if  I  could  have, 
for  the  awful  truth,  forced  upon  me  through  the 
blasphemous  lips  of  the  miserable  woman  in  the 
Station-house  Cell,  was  emblazoned  on  my  very 
soul.  Yes,  some  day  I  must  meet  Jesus  Christ 
face  to  face !  And  as  I,  with  the  others,  walked 
toward  the  clerk's  office,  where  the  registration 
books  were  kept,  I  breathed  forth  a  silent  prayer 
for  divine  sustenance. 

My  pedigree — the  longest  one — was  the  last  of 
the  seven  to  be  taken.  Warden  Addison  John- 
son was  in  the  office.  He  knew  me  after  a  fash- 
ion, from  my  record,  which  was  already  told  at 
length  in  the  Prison  books.  There  it  was, 
"George  White,  alias  George  Bliss,"  and  many 
other  borrowed  names,  each  one  bringing  to  my 
mind  an  awful  story  of  crime  against  God  and 
man.  And  there  it  was  again,  "Noted  bank- 
burglar  and  jail-breaker,"  and  the  like,  and  with- 
out end,  it  seemed  to  me. 

"This  Convict  White,"  said  the  warden,  look- 


22 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


ing  wisely  at:  State  Agent  James  Jackson,  and 
putting  considerable  emphasis  on  the  word  "Con- 
vict," "is  a  desperate  criminal  and  escaper,  I  am 
told." 

"There  is  no  doubt  of  that,  warden,"  said 
Jackson,  eyeing  me  critically.  "This  White,  or 
Bliss,  as  he  chooses  to  call  himself,  is  a  most 
desperate  character,  and  it's  true  that  he  made  a 
daring  break  from  this  very  Prison  in  1872." 

"So  I  observe  in  his  record !"  commented  War- 
den Johnson,  as  he  glanced  at  the  entry  in  the 
book.  In  a  moment  he  looked  up  and  gasped : 

"How  is  this,  Jackson?  What  do  these  lines 
in  red  ink  mean?" 

The  warden  directed  the  state  agent's  attention 
to  several  words  scrawled  in  the  book. 

"They  tell  only  what  happened,"  exclaimed 
Jackson.  "This  man  did  escape  from  here  in 
1872,  and  it  is  a  fact  that  he  was  pardoned  while 
he  was  yet  at  liberty!" 

"Impossible,  Jackson,  impossible!  How  could 
a  Convict  be  pardoned,  meanwhile  being  an  es- 
caped Convict — still  at  large?"  exclaimed  War- 
den Johnson,  incredulously. 

"I  have  often  wondered  at  it  myself,  warden. 
Nevertheless  his  pardon  is  recorded  in  our  books, 
and  we  can't  go  back  of  that." 

Warden  Johnson  seemed  to  be  on  the  point  of 
asking  me  for  a  solution  of  the  mystery,  but 
changing  his  mind,  said  to  Jackson: 

"I  want  you  to  see  that  he  doesn't  have  a 


23 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


chance  to  escape  again,  else  he  may  get  another, 
similar  pardon." 

I  thought  I  read  within  these  words  that  my 
life  within  the  Prison  would  not  be  that  of  the 
favored,  if  I  did  not  press  with  gold  the  palms 
of  one  or  more  of  the  Prison  officials. 

Having  finished  the  routine  in  the  clerk's 
office,  the  warden  directed  that  the  squad  be  taken 
at  once  to  the  bathing  quarters.  I  had  scarcely 
gotten  under  the  shower-bath,  when  a  Convict 
"trusty"  came  in  and  tossed  a  suit  of  stripes — 
the  ugly,  broad,  black  and  white  badge  of  infamy 
— on  the  floor  beside  me,  accompanying  the  act 
with  a  string  of  vile  language  and  oaths,  which 
created  within  me  a  sensation  akin  to  horror. 
At  the  same  time  a  keeper,  with  a  brutal  tongue, 
ordered  me  to  hustle  in  my  clothing,  and  to  recol- 
lect that  I  was  not  in  a  Fifth  Avenue  hotel. 

Not  many  minutes  later  found  me  in  the  ton- 
sorial  department  of  the  Prison,  and,  presently, 
I  was  out  again  with  my  moustache  gone,  and  but 
precious  little  hair  showing  on  any  part  of  my 
scalp.  Then  I  was  bundled  into  a  Cell  that  was, 
in  all  its  environment,  horribly  suggestive  of 
filth  and  vermin.  Thus  I  was  again  installed  in 
Sing  Sing  Prison,  but  I  vowed,  through  the 
help  of  a  merciful  God,  to  make  it  the  last  time. 

Though  I  was  again  behind  the  bars,  I  pos- 
sessed a  sensation  of  rest,  of  perfect  peace,  a  sort 
of  newness  within  me,  that  was  completely  satis- 
fying. Never  had  I  experienced  a  similar  state  of 


24 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


mind,  unless  it  was  when  God  spoke  to  me  in  the 
Police  Station  Cell  on  that  memorable  night. 
I  held  the  knowledge  that  God  had  forgiven  my 
manifold  sins,  but  the  marvel  was  that  he  had 
offered  pardon  to  me — one  who  was  so  infamous 
among  all  of  the  world's  sinful,  erring  creatures ! 

It  must  be  that  I  had  taken  God  at  His  word, 
for  had  He  not  said  that  if  the  wicked  man  for- 
sakes his  way  and  his  unrighteous  thoughts, 
abundant  pardon  will  be  the  reward  of  such 
earnest  seeker  ?  And,  at  that  moment,  there  came 
from  the  memories  of  long  ago,  these  comfort- 
ing, assuring  words,  from  God's  glorious  prom- 
ises: 

"I  will  uphold  thee  with  the  right  hand  of  My 
righteousness !" 

And  God  had  upheld  me !  In  the  Police  Court 
where  I  was  arraigned,  as  a  preliminary  in  the 
legal  procedure,  I  found  that  His  sustaining 
power  was  with  me.  And  during  the  two  nights 
which  I  spent  in  the  Police  Court  Prison,  His 
presence  was  still  with  me,  unerringly  pointing 
out  the  only  path  I  should  traverse,  and  revealing 
to  me,  beyond  all  doubt,  that,  being  guilty,  I 
must  pay  the  certain  penalty. 

In  the  Tombs,  too,  the  jail  of  the  county,  that 
deep  grave  of  millions  of  blasted  hopes,  the 
crucible  of  dried-up  tears,  that  Port  of  Separation 
of  the  Good  from  the  Evil,  I  had  Him  yet  with 
me,  the  same,  sure,  Great  Arm,  upon  which  to 
lean;  the  same  assuring  Divine  Voice  heard  by 


25 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


faith,  to  support  and  encourage  me  on.  When 
brought  before  the  Court  of  General  Sessions, 
and  the  learned  head  of  the  court.  Judge  Martin 
T.  McMahon,  asked  me,  in  solicitous  tones,  why 
sentence  should  not  be  imposed  upon  me,  there 
was  nothing  to  do  but  submit  to  the  inevitable, 
for  I  was  guilty,  and,  being  guilty,  why  should  I 
not  pay  the  penalty?  Realizing  this,  I  was  will- 
ing to  pay  the  debt  in  full,  so  long  as  He  was 
my  Guide  and  my  Staff.  I  determined  that  I 
would  not  falter  in  the  way,  while  I  had  Him 
with  me,  and  had  His  answers  to  prayer,  as  a 
bulwark  of  defense. 

My  sleep  last  night  was  comparatively  restful, 
though  the  environment  of  the  Cell  was  of  such 
a  character  as  to  bring  into  revolt  my  love  of 
cleanliness.  The  bed  was  hard,  the  clothing 
filthy,  and  there  was  a  decided  dampness  in 
everything,  not  to  speak  of  the  never-to-be-for- 
gotten, all-pervading  Prison  atmosphere. 

Thrice  in  the  night  I  was  disturbed  by  the 
snooping  presence  of  a  rat,  which  persisted  in 
being  my  bed-fellow.  I  was  first  awakened  by  a 
warm  weight,  nestling  heavily  at  my  throat, 
which  seemed,  in  my  semi-consciousness,  to  be 
almost  suffocating  me.  Only  when  I  had  flung 
the  thing  against  the  Cell-wall,  was  I  made 
acquainted  with  the  identity  of  this  nocturnal 
caller.  Then  it  ran  squealing  away — as  I 
thought. 

On  two  other  occasions  that  night,  the  impu- 


26 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


dent,  aggressive  rodent  called  upon  me,  repeating 
precisely  the  program  of  the  first  visit.  The  last 
time  it  must  have  been  so  badly  received,  as  to 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  not  a  welcome 
adjunct  to  my  quarters.  But,  as  I  have  said, 
aside  from  the  really  momentary  sensation  of 
the  "creeps"  occasioned  by  this  rodent,  I  passed 
a  night  tranquillity. 

My  surroundings,  however,  were  different  from 
those  experienced  in  other  Prisons  where  I 
served  sentences.  In  former  days  I  had  money 
in  plenty,  and  that  bought  me  all  the  comforts  I 
wished  for.  Now,  however,  a  change  in  my 
circumstances  had  come.  All  my  possessions  of 
the  kind  earthy,  had  vanished.  I  was  poor  and 
despised — despised  on  the  outside  of  the  Prison 
walls,  because  of  my  crimes,  despised  and  bru- 
talized inside  of  the  bars,  because  I  was  penniless, 
and  therefore  impotent  to  buy  salable  privileges, 
which  could  be  enjoyed  only  in  violation  of  the 
law  and  rules  of  the  Prison. 

My  surroundings  but  emphasized  and  im- 
pressed upon  me  more  forcibly  the  Divine  dec- 
laration I  had  read  on  the  wall  in  the  main  hall, 
that  "The  way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard!"  I 
had  transgressed  the  laws,  and,  therefore,  what 
else  must  I  expect  other  than  to  pay  the  price 
that  a  transgressor  should  pay? 

One  thing  I  missed  from  my  Cell  was  a  Bible. 
I  saw  Chaplain  George  Sanderson  in  his  office, 
and  he  gave  me  one  of  large  print,  so  complete 


27 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


explanatorily,  that  a  child  would  understand  its 
teachings.  How  grateful  I  was  to  him  for  this 
boon!  I  must  tell  how  deeply  impressed  I  was 
with  his  sincerity.  Truly  this  Chaplain  seemed 
to  be  a  Christian,  a  godly  man,  and  in  every  way 
worthy  of  his  reputation.  That  my  observa- 
tions anent  him  may  not  appear  too  peculiar,  it 
should  be  explained  that  I  had  come  in  contact 
with  Chaplains  not  a  little  during  my  wide  expe- 
rience as  a  Convict.  Of  these  I  speak  truthfully, 
when  I  say  that  Chaplain  Sanderson  was  the 
first  one  to  impress  me  as  being  really  sincere  in 
the  profession  of  Christianity.  His  religion,  the- 
oretically, seemed  to  be  sound,  and  his  religion, 
as  practiced,  contained  a  fervency,  simplicity, 
and  beneficence,  that  quite  won  me.  He  showed 
himself  to  be  a  man  of  God  to  whom  I  could 
appeal  for  counsel — could  appeal  though  I  was 
inexperienced  in  the  Christian  pathway.  I  felt 
God  had  raised  up  for  me  this  good  man,  that 
my  efforts  to  be  a  Christian  might  be  crowned 
with  success,  that  my  salvation  might  be  assured. 
His  immediate  interest  in  my  temporal  and  spir- 
itual well-being,  gave  me  great  hope,  and  an 
abiding  faith  in  him. 

The  atmosphere  of  Chaplain  Sanderson's1 
office  was  devoid  of  graft  indications,  which  so 
pervaded  those  of  other  Chaplains  in  Prisons 
where  I  had  been.  When  I  was  serving  my  first 
sentence  in  Sing  Sing,  Chaplain  Schoonmaker's 
office  was  notoriously  corrupt.  Very  little  atten- 


28 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


tion,  if  any,  was  paid  to  the  saving  of  Convicts' 
souls,  for  soul-saving  was  thoroughly  subsidiary 
to  a  grasping  after  gold  to  be  had  through 
political  connivance. 

The  Chaplain  studied  his  political  manual  far 
more  industriously  than  he  dwelt  upon  the  teach- 
ings of  the  Bible.  The  revelation  of  the  next 
election  of  a  governor  was  of  far  greater  import 
to  him,  than  the  Revelation  of  St.  John,  or  the 
beauties  of  the  writings  of  Matthew,  Mark,  or 
Luke. 

I  well  remember  those  old  days!  A  Convict 
desiring  religious  instruction,  or  anything  apper- 
taining to  his  Christian  welfare,  had  to  seek  it 
for  himself.  The  good  shepherd  of  the  flock 
never  went  up  on  the  mountains  of  sin,  or  rather, 
in  the  by-ways  of  the  Prison,  in  search  of  lost 
sheep.  The  lost  sheep,  indeed,  had  to  scurry  to 
find  the  shepherd,  and,  upon  finding  him,  had  to 
pay  well  for  his  acceptance  in  the  fold,  and  for 
the  Christian  counsel  he  obtained.  Inasmuch  as 
there  were  mighty  few  Convicts  who  confessed  to 
be  lost  sheep  in  quest  of  a  good  shepherd,  Chap- 
lain Schoonmaker  was  not  unduly  harassed  by  a 
preponderance  of  Christian  effort,  to  the  embar- 
rassment of  his  evidently  more  preferred  work  of 
preserving  his  tenure  of  office,  and  the  accumu- 
lation of  filthy  lucre  thereby. 

But,  how  vastly  different  was  Chaplain  San- 
derson !  His  greatest  desire,  next  to  the  salvation 
of  his  soul,  was  to  be  instrumental  in  pointing 


29 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


out  God  and  His  love,  to  the  lowliest  Convict  in 
the  prison  horde.  And,  he  did  not  tarry  for  the 
lowly  ones  to  come  to  him.  Day  by  day  he 
labored  among  them,  and  sought  out  whom  he 
might  help  to  save  from  sin,  and  earnestly  pleaded 
with  the  most  hardened  among  them  all. 

From  the  moment  the  gate  of  Sing  Sing  closed 
me  in,  my  prayers  were  earnest  and  my  efforts 
unceasing,  that  I  might  be  able  to  carry  the  cross 
of  the  Christian,  faithfully,  and  uncomplainingly, 
but,  at  times,  it  was  almost  greater  than  I  could 
bear. 

Mindful  of  the  Scriptural  injunction,  that  I 
must  not  hide  my  light  under  the  bushel,  and 
zealous  to  fulfil  my  promise  to  God  that  all  men 
should  know  me  as  an  example  of  His  wonderful, 
saving  power,  I  trimmed  my  lamp,  and  kept  it 
burning  as  brightly  as  I  was  able  to,  though  I 
fear  it  did  but  feebly  light  the  way  for  my  fellow 
wayfarers.  But  at  least  I  endeavored  to  do  my 
best,  though  it  was  haltingly. 

No  one  could  have  started  out  with  a  more 
steadfast  purpose  than  I.  And  how  hard  is  the 
course  of  the  transgressor  who  has  forsaken  his 
unrighteousness,  I  learned  as  the  days  went  by. 
My  record,  known  to  every  inmate  from  one  end 
of  the  Prison  to  the  other,  sadly  handicapped  me. 
Advanced  in  years,  somewhat  feeble  of  body,  I 
was  accused  of  turning  to  God  because  I  could  no 
longer  gain  a  livelihood  by  means  of  the  cunning 
I  once  notoriously  possessed.  Attempts  were 


30 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


very  often  made  to  discredit  my  motives.  Ridi- 
cule was  my  daily  sup,  and  contempt  at  the  hands 
of  calloused  thieves,  was  the  reward  of  effort  to 
hold  up  the  Word  of  God  as  a  light  to  be  fol- 
lowed. 

By  day  and  by  night,  the  word  "hypocrite" 
was  whispered  in  my  ear.  If  I  did  not  hear  it 
while  at  my  daylight  tasks,  which  were  not  made 
easy  by  the  keeper  because  of  my  age,  then  I 
heard  it  hissed  through  the  grated  door  in  my 
Cell,  in  the  early  night,  by  a  "trusty"  Convict, 
who  chanced  to  pass  by.  No  one  believed  me, 
so  it  seemed,  except  good  Chaplain  Sanderson. 
He  had  faith  in  me,  and  by  word  and  look  did 
what  he  could  to  smooth  my  tempestuous  way. 

In  all  the  trials  of  the  first  few  days  of  my 
sojourn  in  Sing  Sing,  I  failed  not  to  pray. 
Spiritual  strength  was  asked  for  from  the  Divine 
Source,  and  though  I  prayed  I  knew  but  little 
how  to.  It  was  just  an  opening  of  the  heart  in 
which  there  was  absolutely  nothing  to  be  con- 
cealed. At  morn,  noon,  and  night,  I  prayed 
with  the  simplicity  of  the  child,  for  I  was  indeed 
an  infant,  a  weakling,  toddling  along  in  the  life 
hitherto  to  me,  unexplored!  No  supplication  so 
completely  comforted  me  as  the  simple  words  I 
was  taught  to  utter  at  the  knee  of  my  mother : 

Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 
I  pray  Thee,  Lord,  my  soul  to  keep. 

If  I  should  die  before  I  wake, 
I  pray  Thee,  Lord,  my  soul  to  take. 


31 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


And,  frequently,  I  breathed  to  God  a  part  of 
that  universal  prayer: 

"Our  Father,  which  art  in  Heaven,  hallowed 
be  Thy  Name.  Thy  kingdom  come.  Thy  will 
be  done  in  earth  as  it  is  in  Heaven.  Give  us  this 
day  our  daily  bread,  and  forgive  us  our  trespasses, 
as  we  forgive  those  who  trespass  against  us !" 

In  a  weak  moment,  while  kneeling  at  my  bed- 
side one  night,  I  attempted  to  pray  as  I  had  at 
my  conversion  in  the  Police  Station  Cell,  but 
my  thoughts  were  as  lead,  and  my  tongue  seemed 
to  be  dumb.  Then,  I  realized  that  a  quickened 
soul,  struggling  back  from  the  brink  of  over- 
shadowing perdition,  would  only  be  accorded  the 
power  to  pray  like  that.  God  at  that  time 
searched  into  the  innermost  recesses  of  my  heart, 
and,  finding  that  I  had  cast  my  all,  fully  and 
freely,  on  the  altar  of  His  tender  mercy  and 
boundless  compassion,  created  in  me  a  sudden 
and  full  knowledge  of  the  awfulness  of  my 
lost  condition,  which  must  have  lifted  high  the 
flood-gates  of  my  soul,  that  I  might  pour  out 
its  agonizing  plea  for  salvation. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  God,  in  His  all-wise  plan 
of  my  salvation  from  a  wasted  life  of  sin,  no 
longer  required  the  anguish  of  soul  I  suffered 
that  night.  Indeed,  knowing  my  physical  frail- 
ties, I  doubt  whether  my  poor,  abused  body  would 
have  been  able  to  withstand  another  mental  strug- 
gle like  it.  And  not  again  did  I  thus  venture  to 
encroach  upon  that  world  of  supplication.  Rather, 


32 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


thereafter,  I  humbly  prostrated  myself  before 
His  throne  of  mercy,  and  realizing  my  nothing- 
ness, drew  nigh  to  pray,  with  faltering  tongue 
and  broken  language,  for  the  bestowal  of  His 
beneficence  upon  me.  And  so,  day  by  day,  He 
heard  my  petitions. 


33 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  PASSING  OF  TOM  BAKER. 

From  the  beginning  I  was  resolved  to  bear 
without  outward  murmur  or  complaint  the  bur- 
dens of  Prison  life.  How  great  some  of  these 
were,  only  the  perusal  of  my  memoir  will  reveal. 

As  I  had  served  several  terms  in  State  Prisons, 
my  assignment  to  duty  placed  me  in  a  Convict 
squad  which  was  divided  into  three  gangs,  and 
recognized  as  the  Third  Termers.  To  be  num- 
bered among  this  squad  was  to  be  put  in  the 
dual  position  of  being  subjected  to  the  greatest 
degree  of  ignominy  and  laborious  tasks  of  the 
most  servile  character.  First  Termers,  openly 
and  without  restriction,  sneered  at  the  Third 
Termers,  and  when  favorable  opportunities  arose, 
actually  heaped  indignities  upon  them. 

In  the  college  days,  it  is  the  freshman  who  is 
put  through  the  sprouts,  and  thus  initiated  into 
the  ways  and  by-ways  of  College  life.  In  my 
Prison  life  it  was  quite  different.  The  old-timer, 
the  Convict  of  experience,  hardened  in  crime, 
and,  presumably,  possessed  of  all  the  knowledge 
that  the  novice  lacked,  was  the  victim  of  initia- 
tion. The  greater  the  length  of  his  Prison  record, 
the  more  liable  he  was  to  be  the  recipient  of  the 
rough,  coarse  and,  not  infrequently,  brutal  and 
inhuman  Prison  custom. 


34 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


I  have  endeavored  to  think  that  the  sore  trials 
which  fell  to  my  lot,  seemingly  at  the  hands  of 
my  Fellow  Convicts,  were  mine  more  by  accident 
than  by  design.  However  that  may  have  been,  it 
has  always  been  my  desire  to  let  the  facts  tell 
the  tale,  that  the  Divine  One  and  the  justice- 
dealing  public,  the  American  people,  may  judge 
me.  As  for  the  punishments  I  received  from  the 
Prison  officials  who  had  charge  of  my  body,  they 
were  accepted  as  a  part  of  the  price  I  was  called 
upon  to  pay  as  an  atonement  for  my  crimes. 
Whether  or  not  I  was  too  grievously  afflicted,  I 
will  not  venture  to  say.  The  verdict  in  this 
regard  I  also  must  accept  at  the  hands  of  God 
and  my  fellow-men. 

In  less  than  a  week  after  my  incarceration 
began,  I  was  installed  in  scavenger  duty.  This 
included  a  class  of  work  highly  offensive  to  a 
man  unaccustomed  to  the  conventionalities  and 
niceties  of  life.  To  one  whose  early  youth  had 
been  toned  with  refining  influences,  and  whose 
later  dollars  were  potent  to  thrust  him  in  good 
society,  this  menial  employment  for  the  State, 
was  not  alone  bitter  punishment,  but  was,  at  the 
same  time,  positively  nauseating.  And  then,  there 
were  periods  when  my  body  was  scourged  almost 
to  the  limit  of  endurance.  Confident  I  am  now 
that  God's  sustaining  power  kept  me  from  crying 
out  under  bodily  distress,  that  my  punishment 
was  more  than  I  could  endure. 

Frequently  I  was  called  to  the  Prison  yard  on 


35 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


railroad  duty,  which  also  took  me  outside  of  the 
walls.  This  task  consisted  in  dragging  railroad 
freight  cars  in  and  out  of  the  Prison,  and  unload- 
ing them.  The  officials  did  not  take  pains  to 
select  fair  weather  in  which  to  perform  the  work, 
and,  perhaps,  they  could  not  have  done  differently 
had  they  been  inclined  toward  leniency. 

Nevertheless,  the  December  days  I  spent  in  and 
about  Sing  Sing  were  remarkable  for  the  bit- 
terness of  the  cold.  The  icy  Hudson  River,  with 
its  broad  sweep,  lay  up  against  the  west  side  of 
the  Prison,  and  was  only  separated  from  the 
yard  by  a  formidable  iron  fence.  In  the  north 
wall,  the  Prison  gate  opened  to  a  spread  of  rail- 
road tracks,  on  which  were  rolled  the  cars  that 
were  switched  to  them  from  the  main  line  in 
front  of  the  Prison.  The  north  and  west  winds 
seemed  to  blow  continuously,  and  with  a  strength 
and  iciness  that  sent  them  piercing  into  the  blood, 
and  chilling  the  marrow. 

To  successfully  breast  this  trying  weather,  it 
required  the  blood  of  fresh  young  manhood.  Ad- 
versely, the  Third  Termers  were  composed,  for 
the  most  part,  of  men  well  advanced  in  years, 
which,  of  itself,  unfitted  them  for  these  tasks.  In 
addition  to  this  handicap  many  of  them  were  in 
feeble  health,  and,  in  several  instances,  far  ad- 
vanced in  the  stages  of  consumption.  These 
latter,  very  often,  won  my  sympathy,  and  more 
than  once  I  was  so  moved  to  pity  that  I  would 
have  protested  had  there  been  any  chance  of 


36 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


obtaining  relief  for  them.  They,  too,  were  paying 
the  penalty,  and  that  it  was  a  cruel  one  I  dare 
not  gainsay. 

I  was  more  than  three-score  years  of  age  and 
though  much  better  equipped  to  withstand  the 
slavish  work  than  they,  it  bore  me  to  the  earth 
only  too  often,  until  I  was  glad  to  escape  to  the 
seclusion  of  my  Cell,  where  I  was  kept  in  soli- 
tary confinement,  until  strong  enough  to  resume 
my  task  again. 

I  think  it  was  in  the  second  week  of  my  incar- 
ceration, that  there  came  a  sudden  increase  in  the 
manufacturing  done  in  the  Prison  shops.  This 
cause  produced  the  logical  effect  of  a  great 
influx  of  freight-bearing  cars,  and  a  consequent 
unloading  and  reloading  of  them  with  Convict- 
made  wares.  This  placed  an  enormous  strain 
upon  the  human  machines — the  Third  Termers! 
From  the  time  of  their  induction  into  this  work, 
which  was  early  in  the  morning  until  the  locking 
up  hour  at  night,  it  was  an  incessant  grind,  and 
an  awful  rush,  entailing  great  exhaustion  upon 
the  men.  There  were  days  when  the  duties 
waxed  so  exacting  that  the  midday  meal  was  not 
reckoned  a  necessity  in  the  manual  of  the  care- 
less, or  should  I  say,  heartless  keepers!  Not 
infrequently  I  saw  a  poor  emaciated  fellow  sink 
in  his  tracks  in  the  snow,  and  it  seemed  to  me 
that  he  was  only  removed  in  order  that  his  body 
might  not  cumber  the  railroad  tracks,  and,  in 
consequence,  retard  the  moving  of  cars. 


37 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


One  day  in  the  beginning  of  this  period  of 
multiplied  labor  I  shall  not  forget,  nor  will  my 
fellow-victims  of  the  squad.  And,  right  here,  I 
must  describe  the  scene.  There  was  an  apology 
for  a  yard,  which  was  corrugated  with  the  rails 
of  three  tracks.  That  is,  with  a  snowless  ground, 
the  corrugation  was  there  in  view,  but  on  this 
day  the  rails  were  undisclosed  because  of  a  four- 
inch  layer  of  hard-frozen  snow,  and  newly  formed 
ice.  At  least  ten  freight- weighted  cars  stood  ice- 
bound to  the  tracks  situated  farthest  from  the 
Prison  gate. 

Not  a  few  of  the  squad  had  failed  to  respond 
to  the  breakfast  call.  The  hardships  of  the  pre- 
vious day  had  left  them  in  their  cells  at  night, 
more  dead  than  alive.  So,  off  to  the  hospital  they 
were  dragged  or  carried  for  physical  repairs,  or, 
death  not  coming,  happily  to  release  them  from 
their  torture,  bundled  in  with  the  next  transfer 
party  destined  for  Clinton  Prison  farther  north 
in  the  State.  That  left  the  several  gangs  con- 
siderably depleted,  and,  thereby,  still  less  capable 
of  coping  with  the  gigantic  task  which  they  must 
perform. 

As  I  have  heretofore  related,  the  morning  was 
bitterly  cold,  the  thermometer  having  well-nigh 
ceased  to  register  its  frigidity.  There  was  a 
searching  northwesterly  wind  blowing,  that  fairly 
ate  into  the  vitals.  The  cheap,  threadbare  suits 
of  stripes,  always  the  clothing  of  the  Third 
Tenners,  were  little  protection  from  the  devour- 


38 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


ing  cold  which  seemed  to  burn  the  flesh  like  hot 
iron. 

It  was  a  Prison  regulation  that  Convicts  per- 
forming such  work,  must  be  supplied  with  gloves 
or  mittens,  but  these  were  not  in  evidence,  except 
in  rare  instances.  The  man  who  was  fortunate 
enough  to  have  covering  for  his  hands  owed  it 
to  his  perspicacity  in  stealing  a  pair  of  mitts  or 
gloves. 

I  recall  that  I  could  have  had,  and  did  have  a 
pair  of  mittens,  but  I  gave  them  to  Tom  Baker, 
a  frail  fellow,  a  comrade  whose  Cell  was  but  a 
few  paces  from  mine. 

Of  nights  his  incessant,  dry  cough,  often  awoke 
me  to  the  fact  that  he  would  not  long  be  a  burden 
to  the  State,  nor  to  the  world,  except  for  the 
nameless  grave  he  must  soon  fill.  As  I  have 
said,  I  gave  my  mittens  to  him,  and  though  he 
was  a  criminal  with  his  wife's  blood  on  his  hands 
and  soul,  he  appeared  to  be  grateful,  and  I  real- 
ized a  sense  of  gladness  in  doing  it.  Therefore 
most  of  us  were  gloveless  or  mittenless,  and  ill- 
prepared  to  face  the  weather  of  winter  days. 

As  a  contrariety,  the  trio  of  keepers  who  con- 
trolled us,  one  at  the  head  of  each  of  three  gangs, 
were  bundled  up  in  woolens  and  fur  coats,  and 
their  hands  were  comfortably  geared  in  wool- 
lined  gloves.  Neither  of  the  three  failed  to  have 
with  him  the  stout  hickory  stick,  which  too  often 
was  plied  upon  the  head,  shoulders,  or  back  of  a 
Convict,  who  happened,  in  any  way,  to  offend 


39 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


die  dignity  of  one  of  these  high  and  mighty  per- 
sonages. One  of  the  trio  on  that  particular  morn- 
ing, must  have  met  with  some  serious  disappoint- 
ment the  preceding  night,  for  he  was  in  an  ex- 
ceedingly disgruntled  frame  of  mind.  At  his 
best  he  was  offensively  overbearing,  but  on  this 
occasion  there  was  the  brute  ferocious  flaunted 
in  his  every  word  and  act. 

A  dozen  of  us,  unfortunately,  were  in  the  gang 
which  came  under  this  fellow's  immediate  com- 
mand. I  presume  he  did  not  especially  select  me 
as  a  mark  at  which  to  fire  the  guns  of  his  dis- 
pleasure, but  so  it  appeared  to  me.  At  any  rate, 
he  was  not  at  all  tardy  in  directing  his  attention 
my  way,  as  I  found  out. 

"Pick  up  them  drag  lines,  you  old  fakir,  and 
don't  stand  looking  like  an  undertaker  at  a 
funeral!"  he  shouted  at  me,  meaning  the  half 
dozen  lengths  of  coarse  rope  which  lay  almost 
buried  in  the  snow,  and  which  were  used  as 
draught  ropes  by  the  Third  Termers.  Each  gang 
was  provided  with  a  rope,  at  one  end  of  which 
was  a  large  iron  hook  shaped  to  fit  in  the  draw- 
head  of  a  car,  where  it  could  be  held  in  place  by 
a  coupling-pin. 

As  I  attempted  to  lift  the  bundle  of  ropes  and 
iron,  he  kicked  his  hob-nailed  boots  against  one 
of  the  frozen  coils  as  a  sort  of  emphasis  to  his 
command.  The  result  was  extremely  painful  to 
me,  for  a  nail  in  the  boot  cut  a  ragged  gash  across 
the  back  of  my  right  hand,  which  was  excep- 


40 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


tionally  sensitive,  because  of  its  half-frozen  con- 
dition. 

For  an  instant  I  withdrew  from  the  task  to 
stem  the  flow  of  blood  that  he  plainly  saw  was 
staining  the  snow.  The  pain  which  he  had  acci- 
dentally or  purposely  inflicted  upon  me  did  not 
appear  to  excite  either  his  sympathy  or  interest. 

"You  're  wasting precious  time,  you  old 

fool!"  he  shouted  again,  puncturing  his  coarse 
remarks  with  two  stinging  strokes  of  his  cane 
across  my  bent  shoulders.  For  the  moment  I 
was  staggered  by  unpreparedness,  and  then  down 
on  my  knees  I  went  with  considerable  force,  and 
surprising  suddenness.  When  I  had  struggled  to 
a  standing  posture  again,  the  left  side  of  my  face 
was  bleeding  freely  from  half  a  dozen  small 
jagged  wounds,  caused  by  a  rough  patch  of  ice 
over  which  it  had  scraped. 

"Blockhead!  Dolt!"  roared  the  keeper,  inter- 
mittently, in  a  string  of  oaths.  "Of  what  earthly 
use,"  he  added,  "is  such  an  old,  canting  hypo- 
crite as  you!"  Then,  with  a  hand  that  was  far 
from  gentle,  he  shoved  me  aside  to  make  room 
for  the  next  nearest  Convict,  who  proved  to  be 
No.  333  of  the  squad — Tom  Baker. 

"See  if  you  can  pick  up  a  few  ounces  of  rope !" 
he  bellowed  at  him.  The  words  contained  a  de- 
cided vein  of  sarcasm  clearly  intended  for  me. 
I  felt  my  blood  tingle  a  little ! 

Poor  Tom  weakly  gathered  up  the  mass  of 
rope  with  his  hands  in  the  mittens  I  had  given 


41 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


him,  and  moved  on  ahead  of  the  gang,  his  haunt- 
ing, dry  cough  beating  a  sort  of  dirge  to  his 
every  step.  I,  with  the  others  of  our  gang,  fol- 
lowed, still  bleeding,  but  resolved  and  prayerful. 

The  cars  which  were  to  be  transferred,  stood 
outside  of  the  Prison  yard,  and  pretty  well  up 
toward  the  depot,  which  was  probably  three  hun- 
dred yards  distant  from  the  Prison  proper.  The 
one  that  my  gang  was  expected  to  tackle  first, 
was  heavily  laden  with  dozens  of  bags  of  cement, 
and  several  scores  of  barrels  containing  lime. 
The  car  must  be  hauled  along  the  tracks  into 
the  Prison  yard,  and  alongside  a  platform.  After 
that  it  was  the  duty  of  the  gang  to  carry  the 
cement  and  lime  from  the  car  to  the  storehouses 
which  were  some  distance  away. 

As  Tom  Baker  staggered  on  with  his  heavy 
burden,  it  was  apparent  that  he  would  not  be  able 
to  stand  the  strain  long,  and  my  heart  bled  for 
him,  smarting  though  I  was  with  the  distress  of 
my  wounds.  I  wondered,  indeed,  if  he  would 
reach  the  car  and  succeed  in  stretching  the 
draught  rope  in  front  of  it.  Though  the  poor 
lad  was  a  sorry  spectacle,  no  one  in  our  gang,  nor 
any  one  of  the  entire  squad  of  Third  Termers, 
dared  to  enter  a  protest.  To  do  so  would  have, 
as  each  man  knew,  uselessly  invited  the  dis- 
pleasure of  all  of  the  keepers,  without  benefiting 
in  the  least  the  object  of  pity.  The  penalty  for 
creating  this  displeasure  was  of  such  a  character 
that  no  one  felt  quite  brave  enough  to  risk  the 


42 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


consequent  three  days  of  solitary  confinement  in 
the  Dark  Cell,  with  its  menu  per  diem  of  a  small 
square  of  black  bread,  and  a  thimbleful  of  brack- 
ish water. 

As  best  he  could,  the  wretched  Tom  tottered 
along  to  the  first  car.  When  he  halted  in  front 
of  it  and  threw  down  the  rope,  I  saw  that  he 
was  stumbling  about  as  a  blind  man  might  have 
done.  Then  he  fell  prone  on  the  snow-crust, 
where  he  lay  panting  for  breath,  a  sight  to  be 
witnessed  with  naught  but  profound  compassion. 
I  was  smitten  to  the  heart.  Pushing  forward, 
I  was  on  the  point  of  offering  him  assistance, 
when  the  keeper  seized  me  roughly  by  the  shoul- 
der and  hurled  me  backward. 

"Are  you  in  charge  here?"  he  demanded  with 
a  sneer. 

"I'm  sure  I  am  not,  sir,"  was  my  quiet  reply, 
"but  I'd  like  to  be  for  a  moment.  It  seems  to 
me  that  No.  333  isn't  feeling  well  this  morning." 

"And  that 's  none  of  your  infernal  business," 
he  cried,  angrily.  "Let  me  inform  you  that 
you  're  interfering  with  what  is  no  affair  of  yours, 
and  I  won't  have  it.  I'm  the  keeper  here,  and 
you  're  simply  an  old  white-livered  Convict!" 

"Your  pardon,  keeper,"  I  said,  stepping  back  a 
pace  or  two.  He  turned  to  Tom  Baker. 

"Up  with  you,  No.  333,"  he  cried,  as  with 
brute  strength  he  grasped  the  motionless  con- 
sumptive by  the  lapels  of  the  coat,  and  sought  to 
drag  him  to  his  feet.  The  rotted  cloth  was  rent 


43 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


with  the  effort,  disclosing  underneath  it  a  folded 
newspaper  which  Tom  had  spread  over  his  lungs 
to  protect  them  from  the  cold.  When  the  cloth 
yielded,  No.  333  fell  back  on  the  snow  again  with 
a  lead-like  thud,  that  must  have  bruised  him. 

"Wait — keeper,"  he  said,  in  a  hoarse  whisper 
that  thrilled  even  the  most  hardened  of  the  Third 
Termers.  My  compassion  swelled  beyond  all 
control.  Bleeding  though  I  was,  it  required  but 
an  instant  to  brush  aside  the  keeper,  and  put  my- 
self beside  this  stricken  comrade.  I  tried  to 
gather  up  his  emaciated  body  in  my  arms,  but 
was  unequal  to  the  strain,  unexacting  as  it  was. 
Two  of  the  men  boldly  came  to  my  assistance, 
and  together  we  raised  him  to  a  sitting  posture. 

But  the  grim,  merciless  messenger  of  death 
was  knocking  at  Tom's  door  with  a  certainty  that 
none  of  us  could  misunderstand.  A  rivulet  of 
bright  arterial  blood  trickled  from  his  lips,  and 
threaded  its  way  to  the  immaculate  snow,  where 
in  crimson  vividness  it  stood  out  in  startling  con- 
trast 

"Wait — wait — oh,  wait,"  the  suffering  man 
murmured,  his  voice  pitifully  weak  and  gurgling 
with  the  flow.  A  Convict  removed  his  coat  and 
spread  it  on  the  snow.  Gently  we  laid  No.  333 
on  it.  He  made  another  effort  to  speak,  but  the 
ominous  letting  of  lifeblood  choked  his  utterance. 

"Off  with  your  coats,  boys!"  I  said  to  three 
of  the  Third  Termers,  and  while  they  obeyed, 
knowing  intuitively  the  reason,  I  chafed  the  hands 


44 


'  •*'"" 


R?vaBBi5:r 
Bread  Line  at  the  McAuley  Mission  on  a  Christmas  Day 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


of  the  poor  fellow.  By  the  time  my  comrades  had 
covered  him  with  their  coats,  he  gave  symptoms 
of  returning  consciousness. 

"Better,  comrade?"  I  asked,  and  it  was  en- 
couraging to  note  that  he  understood.  Then  I 
put  my  lips  to  his  ear  and  whispered : 

"Pray,  Tom,  pray  to  God  while  you  have  time  I 
In  another  hour  it  may  be  too  late !" 

He  shook  his  head  in  a  hopeless  sort  of  way. 
I  felt  that  here  was  a  soul  about  to  go  to  its  Cre- 
ator— a  soul  that  was  blinded  by  the  blackness  of 
its  crime.  I  felt  that  to  make  him  know  I  must 
speak  in  a  language  that  would  be  familiar  to  him. 
Bending  even  closer,  I  whispered: 

"Dump  the  old  game,  Tom,  and  take  a  tumble ! 
Pray  to  Jesus!  He'll  hear  you!  Don't  mind  if 
your  life  is  blacker  than  hell.  I  swear  that  Jesus 
will  save  you!  I'm  a  square  one,  Tom,  and  am 
not  lying  to  you !  He's  forgiven  me,  and  that 's 
why  I  can  swear  to  you !  I'm  saved,  Tom,  and 
am  going  to  Heaven !  You  must  go,  too !" 

He  opened  his  eyes  widely,  wonderingly,  in- 
credulously— eyes  that  were  almost  beautiful,  I 
thought. 

"It's  God's  truth,  Torn— will  you  pray?"  I 
urged. 

"I  don't  know  how,"  he  breathed,  so  softly  that 
I  could  scarcely  catch  the  words. 

"You  don't  have  to  know  how,  Tom,  old  pal," 
I  whispered,  feeling  my  eyes  filling,  and  my 
throat  throbbing  with  emotion.  "Jus*  think, 


45 


Penalty  ana  Redemption 


yearn,  reach  out,  believe,  no  matter  how  black 
your  crimes!  Pray  to  Him — say  anything — one 
word,  two,  a  dozen— this,  'God  be  merciful  to  me, 
a  sinner !'  Say  those  words  twice,  and  belief  will 
come — He  '11  hear  and  forgive  you !  I  swear  it, 
old  pal!  He  saved  me,  and  He'll  save  you! 
Won't  you  try,  Tom?" 

He  nodded  his  head  feebly  in  the  affirmative, 
and  I  saw  his  lips  move.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
there  was  a  sudden  change  in  his  pale  face — it 
became  illuminated,  strangely  illuminated.  Could 
it  be  that  hope  had  entered  his  stricken  soul  ? 

All  this  occupied  but  a  moment,  and,  in  the 
meantime,  the  keeper  had  been  more  deeply 
stirred  with  pity  than  I  thought  it  was  in  him  to 
be.  He  had  hastily  sent  half  a  dozen  of  the  gang 
back  to  the  Prison  for  blankets,  brandy,  and  a 
litter. 

By  the  time  these  things  arrived,  No.  333  was 
able  to  be  moved,  and  I  was  one  of  those  who 
lifted  him  on  the  litter.  The  strain  was  almost 
too  much  for  his  feeble  strength.  One  of  the 
men  drew  the  cork  from  a  brandy  bottle,  and 
placed  the  liquid  to  Tom's  lips.  He  tried  to  turn 
away  his  head. 

"Don't,"  I  said!  "he  can't  stand  it!  'T would 
strangle  him !"  In  my  heart  I  believed  that  Tom 
had,  at  last,  repelled  his  lifelong  enemy — the  real 
author  of  his  terrible  record  of  crime. 

As  they  started  away  with  him,  I  quickly 
reached  for  his  hand  and  whispered : 


46 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


"Is  it  all  right  with  you,  Tom?"  It  seemed 
as  if  he  pressed  my  hand.  That  was  all  the 
answer  I  got,  except  I  discovered  an  unusual  glad 
light  in  his  eyes.  In  some  manner  I  was  led  to 
believe  that  he  had  found  the  peace  which  cometh 
from  God,  and  which  passeth  the  understanding 
of  the  wicked  mortal,  and  is  potent  to  deliver 
from  the  torments  of  sin  the  vilest  transgressor  of 
Divine  law.  I  can  not  positively  say  that  he  made 
his  peace  with  God,  but  I  firmly  believe  he  did. 

I  walked  along  by  the  side  of  the  litter  for  a 
few  paces,  intending  to  accompany  him  to  the 
hospital  door,  but  the  gruff  voice  of  the  keeper 
halted  me. 

"About  face,  White!"  he  commanded,  "and 
get  your  old  hulk  on  top  of  that  freight  car,  and 
let  off  them  brakes !" 

I  took  a  lingering  glance  at  the  receding  form 
of  No.  333,  and  straightway  turned  away  to 
obey.  I  have  ever  since  carried  a  vivid  picture  in 
my  memory  of  him  as  he  appeared  that  day,  for 
he  never  came  in  my  life  again. 

It  was  no  easy  thing  for  me  to  climb  the  iron 
ladder  which  extended  up  the  side  of  the  tall 
box  car,  to  the  top  of  which  I  had  been  told  to 
go.  I  swung  myself  clumsily  and  safely  up  the 
first  few  frosted  rungs,  but,  unfortunately,  my 
snow-clogged  shoes  slipped,  and  with  a  groan 
I  fell  backward  to  the  earth,  a  distance,  perhaps, 
of  six  feet. 

In  the  desperate  effort  to  save  myself,  my  bared 


47 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


hands  were  thrust  in  the  snow.  Flushed  with 
shame  over  the  sorry  figure  I  was  cutting,  I 
scrambled  to  my  feet,  and  made  another  attempt, 
but  with  what  result  one  may  well  conceive,  when 
my  wet  hands  came  in  contact  with  the  frost- 
encrusted  iron.  My  palms  and  fingers  clung, 
became  glued  as  it  were,  to  the  rungs,  and  to 
remove  them  instantly  meant  to  lacerate  my  flesh. 
That  alone  was  sufficient  to  make  me  hesitate,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  burning  sensation  experienced 
through  the  contact. 

The  keeper  saw  my  uncertainty,  and  it  angered 
him.  With  an  oath  he  caught  me  by  the  coat 
collar,  and  yanked  my  hands  away  from  the  car, 
leaving  small  patches  of  flesh  on  the  rungs.  I 
could  have  howled  with  pain,  but  I  set  my  teeth 
determinedly,  meanwhile  praying  in  my  soul,  that 
God  would  take  away  from  me  the  burning  desire 
to  kill  the  brute  with  anything  that  would  serve 
as  a  club.  I  did  snatch  a  coupling-pin  from  the 
car-bumper  nearest  me,  but  instead  of  braining 
him,  I  slid  it  in  its  place,  after  another  Convict 
had  inserted  the  hook  of  a  draught  rope  in  the 
opening  of  the  drawhead. 

Upon  leaving  hold  of  the  pin,  its  shank  bore 
other  shreds  of  my  flesh  and  stains  of  blood. 
Again  I  could  have  cried  with  excruciating  pain, 
but  controlled  myself  with  a  mighty  effort,  while 
from  my  heart  I  breathed  a  silent'  prayer  for  spir- 
itual and  physical  strength  to  still  continue  to 
uncomplainingly  bear  the  wages  of  my  sins. 


48 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


Long  I  contemplated  as  to  whether  or  not  1 
would  cumber  these  pages  with  the  manifold 
trials  of  that  day,  with  the  multiplied  experiences 
of  the  succeeding  days  and  weeks,  in  which  I 
remained  in  Sing  Sing — with  the  tale  of  the 
indignities,  the  cruelties,  the  repeated  inhuman- 
ities, the  concentrated  horrors,  the  like  of  which 
even  the  black  slaves  of  the  South,  in  the  darkest 
hours  of  their  bondage,  never  endured  or  suf- 
fered. 

I  feared  my  motive  would  be  misunderstood,  if 
I  told  too  much  of  a  plain  tale.  There  might  be 
those,  too,  who  would  accuse  me  of  attempting 
to  set  myself  upon  the  pedestal  of  the  martyr, 
when,  of  a  truth,  I  only  desired  to  show,  in  every 
act  and  word,  how  efficacious  was  the  religion  of 
Jesus  Christ  to  succor  in  the  day  of  tribulation 
so  debauched  and  wicked  a  creature  as  I. 

I  argued  that  a  diary  of  my  daily  hardships,  a 
veracious  chronicle  of  the  darkest  side  of  Sing 
Sing,  of  the  undercurrent  of  officialdom  there,  in 
so  far  as  it  dominated  the  lives  of  the  Convicts, 
and  shaped  their  future,  would  be  of  immense 
value  in  the  way  of  bringing  about  a  much-needed 
reformation.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  world 
ought  to  know,  must  know,  what  sort  of  influ- 
ence the  Prison  keepers  were  exerting  over  their 
charges — whether  it  served  to  force  the  penal- 
ized man,  who  yet  had  a  soul,  into  a  still  deeper 
pit  of  degradation  than  he  had  hitherto  descended 
to.  Or,  whether  this  official  influence  was  of 


49 


Penalty  ana  Redemption 


such  a  character  as  to  uplift  the  soul  wallowing 
in  the  abyss  of  unrighteousness  to  a  better,  a 
purer  life,  where  there  would  be  more  likelihood 
of  fitting  that  soul  to  be  with  the  Divine  Power 
Who  created  it,  and  for  the  betterment  of  the 
world  at  large. 

It  occurred  to  me  that  there  might  be  those  who 
would,  in  all  conscientiousness,  and  with  logical 
foundation,  doubt  me,  the  lowly  Convict,  ques- 
tion my  sincerity,  and  find  me  guilty  of  crucifying 
the  truth  on  the  altar  of  self-exaltation.  If  only 
a  few  believed  this,  even  then  the  cross  would  be 
heavy  to  bear.  Adversely,  if  many  regarded  me 
as  an  apostle  of  untruth,  a  son  of  the  Father  of 
Lies,  then  woe  unto  me,  and  to  the  good  that  I 
would,  through  His  will,  accomplish !  All  would 
be  absolutely  overwhelmed  in  a  vast  sea  of  pre- 
judice. 

I  prayed  to  God  with  my  soul  fervently,  irrev- 
ocably committed  to  Him.  I  appealed  for  guid- 
ance in  this  regard,  in  the  halting,  irresolute  style 
of  the  one  precipitately  transported  into  the 
beauties  of  Salvation — one  whose  faltering  tongue 
was  too  uncertain  for  fluency  in  prayer,  but 
whose  heart-earnestness  gave  him  admission  to 
the  Throne  of  Indulgence. 

Having  one's  heart  searched  by  the  all-seeing 
Eye,  that  every  vestige  of  hidden  sin  might  be 
brought  into  the  pure  sunshine  of  truth,  means 
that  room  has  been  created  therein  for  as  per- 
fect a  faith  as  a  soul  may  possess  and  exist  in 


50 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


the  flesh.  And  thus  was  I  tested  of  God,  and 
taught  to  recognize  in  His  gracious  voice,  as  it 
spoke  to  my  soul,  the  reassurance  that  He  would 
stand  by  me,  even  unto  the  finality  of  all  things 
worldly.  In  the  end,  His  still  small  voice  bade 
me  speak  the  truth,  but  revile  no  man !  Sufficient 
was  it  to  permit  the  iron  to  sear  where  it  would, 
but  the  artisan  guiding  it  must  harbor  no  bit- 
terness in  his  heart,  believing  and  never  doubting 
that  in  God  alone  was  vested  the  power  to  say: 
"Vengeance  is  mine,  I  will  repay,  saith  the  Lord  1" 

I  have  written  of  the  evil  things  that  befell 
me  as  best  I  could,  hoping  that  by  my  example 
others,  enthralled  in  the  snares  of  sin,  might 
be  saved.  In  no  word  or  deed,  regardless  of 
adverse  interpretation,  have  I  intended  to  mali- 
ciously inveigh  against  any  one.  In  each  intona- 
tion, by  the  look  of  the  eye,  flourish  of  the  hand, 
in  my  goings  and  comings,  I  have  labored  to 
have  the  spirit  of  God  speak  through  me,  a 
feeble  instrument  in  His  scheme  of  salvation. 

Therefore,  it  was  to  the  glory  of  my  Master 
that  I  was  able  to  bear,  with  no  outward  lamenta- 
tion, the  bruising  and  starving  of  my  body,  the 
humbling  of  my  pride,  and  that  which  was  of 
equal  moment,  the  suspicion  that  I  was  not  sincere 
in  my  profession  of  Christianity,  but  was,  rather, 
a  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing. 

When  I  was  directed  by  my  keeper  to  obtain  a 
tin  cup  from  the  Prison  kitchen  for  him,  from 
which  he  might  drink  hot  water  to  relieve  a 


51 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


stomach  badly  ravaged  by  indigestion,  I  knew  1 
was  expected  to  steal.  It  was  contrary  to  the 
rules  set  down  by  the  warden  for  even  a  keeper 
to  have  in  the  institution  a  cup  such  as  he  wanted, 
yet,  if  I  would  remain  on  amicable  terms  with 
him  I  must  obey. 

Of  one  thing  I  was  certain — I  would  not  steal ! 
I  would  go  to  the  kitchen,  and  take  the  cup  in 
the  presence  of  the  official  in  charge,  and  if  he 
asked  me  what  I  wanted  it  for,  I  would  tell  him. 
Within  twenty-four  hours  the  keeper  had  the 
cup.  I  had  picked  it  up  from  a  table,  with  the 
officer's  eyes  upon  me.  He  reported  the  fact  to 
the  head  keeper,  who  interrogated  me.  I  told 
that  dignitary  the  truth.  My  keeper  laughed  de- 
risively, and  declared  I  was  a  sly  old  beggar. 

"It  is  a  pity  that  this  snivelling  hypocrite  can 
not  be  content  with  his  preaching  and  praying," 
he  said  to  the  head  keeper,  "and  not  spoil  his 
piety-game  by  stealing  in  Prison.  But  it's  in 
the  blood,  and  he  can't  help  it.  That's  why  he  is 
a  Third  Termer !" 

That  night  I  was  in  the  Dark  Cell,  and  for 
three  days  and  two  nights  thereafter.  The  name 
Dark  Cell  does  not  adequately  describe  its  hor- 
rors. A  more  fitting  appellation  would  be  the 
Black  Cell,  or,  still  better,  the  Black  Hole!  In- 
deed, language  is  too  weak  a  vehicle,  when  used 
to  convey  what  it  really  was  and  stood  for.  This 
Black  Hole  completely  answered  the  purpose  for 
which  it  was  created.  A  legally  proved  bad  man 


52 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


was  eligible  to  occupy  it,  only  when  discovered  to 
be  doubly  bad,  and  being  adjudged  doubly  bad, 
he  was  immeasurably  punished. 

In  the  Black  Hole  there  was  not  a  glimmer 
of  light  by  day  or  by  night.  Its  odor  of  the 
grave  was  stench  in  the  nostrils.  Eyes  might 
as  well  be  sightless,  for  there  was  naught  to 
see,  and  ears  served  no  purpose,  unless  it  was 
to  intensify  to  madness  the  sounds  of  the  shuf- 
flings of  the  incarcerated  one,  for  there  was  no 
vibration  coming  in  from  the  outer  world  to  give 
notice  that  it  existed. 

The  black  bread  for  sustenance,  and  brackish 
water  for  thirst,  were  there  to  be  discovered 
more  by  the  true  instinct  of  the  animal  than  by 
the  reasoning  of  intellect.  It  was  the  life  sub- 
terranean of  the  mole,  plus  the  power  of  reason- 
ing, and,  co-equally,  the  intellect  of  the  human, 
plus  the  half  blind  groping  of  the  mole ! 

Who  can  say  that  the  mole  is  not  the  more 
fortunate?  It  is  happy,  no  doubt,  in  its  imper- 
fect seeing,  in  that  it  burrows  as  the  price  of  its 
existence.  Surely  man  in  the  Black  Hole  had  de- 
scended to  the  role  of  the  creeping  thing.  I 
can  not  believe  that  God,  in  His  infinite  mercy, 
lent  His  hand  to  the  invention  of  so  base  a  cru- 
elty! It  remained  for  man  to  enact  the  bar- 
barous ! 

I  lived  in  the  Black  Hole  seventy-two  hours, 
but  my  experience  was  not  like  what  I  have  so 
weakly  described,  true  as  it  was  in  regard  to 


53 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


others.  For  I  had  with  me  the  staff  of  His 
truth  to  guide  my  feet,  the  illumination  of  His 
blessed  sacrifice  for  the  lost  in  sin  to  banish  the 
darkness,  the  soft  whisperings  of  His  reassuring 
voice  to  speak  to  my  soul,  and  faith  in  the  ful- 
fillment of  His  glorious  promise,  that  He  would 
be  with  me  always,  even  unto  the  end. 


54 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


CHAPTER  IV. 

TRIUMPH    OVER  DISAPPOINTMENT. 

It  was  on  a  Monday  morning  that  the  Black 
Hole  delivered  me  to  the  world — my  Prison 
world — again.  That  marvellous  human  telegraph 
which  is  extant  among  Convicts  soon  gave  me 
a  full  understanding  of  what  had  occurred  during 
my  isolation. 

"Samuel  Hopkins  Hadley  talked  to  the  pris- 
oners in  the  chapel  yesterday,"  said  my  informant,, 
and  there  fell  upon  me  a  heaviness  that  wore  into 
my  soul.  Of  all  human  beings  I  most  desired  to 
see  and  hear,  Samuel  Hopkins  Hadley  was  the 
one.  He  was  the  instrument  that  God  had  em- 
ployed to  reach  down  in  the  depths  of  the  pit 
and  lift  me  to  a  realization  of  the  saving  grace  of 
my  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ!  J 

I  wanted  to  hear  him  utter  some  of  the  mes- 
sages from  the  Master  he  served,  in  his  gruff, 
bluff,  convincing  style,  that  appealed  to  one 
steeped  in  vice  with  a  power  that  was  more 
effective  than  much  of  the  polished  eloquence 
heard  in  the  pulpit.  I  wanted  to  grasp  his  hand 
and  say,  in  the  fulness  of  my  heart,  how  grateful 
I  was  for  the  help  he  had  been  to  me. 

While  I  was  in  temporary  exile,  he  had  talked 
to  the  prisoners.  No  doubt  he  had  repeated  the 
story  of  his  life,  boldly  confessing  to  half  of  it 


55 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


being  spent  in  professional  gambling,  drunken- 
ness, debauchery,  and  crime,  often  a  companion 
of  these.  I  imagined  that  he  must  have  spoken 
in  this  vein,  for  he  had  done  so  on  a  Sunday 
two  years  prior,  when  I  was  an  inmate  of 
Sing  Sing,  and  nearing  the  completion  of  my 
second  term  there.  On  that  occasion,  his  words 
had  pierced  my  heart,  with  an  arrow  that  stood 
quivering  in  the  wound. 

He  painted  a  masterful  picture  of  his  life.  He 
had  been  a  drunkard,  and  I  was,  too,  when  freed 
from  Prison  restraint.  God  had  reformed  him, 
while  I,  even  as  he  spoke,  was  yearning  for 
liquor  to  quench  a  thirst  that  years  of  indulgence 
had  made  well-nigh  perpetual.  He  had  gambled 
for  a  livelihood.  So  had  I.  I  had  been  the  pro- 
prietor of  one  of  the  most  elaborate  of  New 
York's  gilded  hells,  and  from  which  I  had  started 
many  a  bright  young  man  on  the  sure  road  to 
eternal  damnation. 

Samuel  H.  Hadley,  I  remembered,  laid  bare  his 
wicked  life  before  his  Convict  auditors.  He  did 
not  fail  to  tell  them  of  his  guilt  as  a  thief,  forger, 
and  liar.  With  what  rapt  attention  I  drank  in  his 
words  only  God  knew,  and  with  what  suddenly 
awakened  anguish  I  realized  the  blackness  of  my 
sin-infected  soul,  it  makes  me  shudder  to  recall. 

If  Mr.  Hadley  believed  himself  to  have  been 
vile,  what,  then,  was  my  condition  ?  Shadowy  as 
his  record  was,  it  shone  in  immaculate  whiteness 
compared  with  mine!  I  had  robbed  banks,  cor- 


56 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


rupting  young  bank  clerks  to  do  it,  encouraged 
police  officials  in  crime,  insuring  my  freedom 
through  the  money  I  paid  them,  and,  more  awful 
than  all  of  these,  I  had  imputed  to  me  the  hor- 
rible characterization  of  having  posed  as  a  pure, 
noble-minded  man  in  a  church  pew,  that  I  might 
better  pursue  the  calling  of  a  successful  thief. 

I  was  regarded  as  a  living  example  of  "Good 
and  Evil" — the  Good  a  cloak  for  the  Evil  1 

And  Mr.  Hadley  told  of  the  loyalty  of  his  wife, 
until,  at  length,  his  debauchery  drove  her  in  sor- 
row from  him.  So  I  had  been  loved  by  a  woman 
—one  better,  sweeter,  and  more  companionable 
never  having  breathed  the  breath  of  life !  Shall 
I  ever  forget  the  agony  that  came  in  her  eyes, 
and  blanched  her  cheeks,  upon  learning  of  my 
true  character  ?  But  she  clung  to  me  as  the  vine 
clings  to  the  old  oak,  and  would  not  lose  hope  of 
my  ultimate  reformation,  until,  at  last,  weighted 
with  sorrow  and  disappointment  over  a  broken 
idol,  she  faded  away  and  passed  on  to  her 
heavenly  reward! 

How  abhorrent  to  her  pure  soul  my  black  life 
must  have  been,  I  now  know.  Tottering  on 
the  brink  of  the  grave,  I  have  come  to  realize  how 
her  spirit  was  crushed  at  the  outset,  how  her 
tender,  wifely  love  was  put  to  the  test !  If  weep- 
ing tears  of  blood  could  eradicate  these  memories, 
how  gladly  would  my  eyes  do  such  a  penance. 
My  soul,  groveling  in  the  dust  of  repentance,  even 
as  I  write,  cries  out  in  agony: 


57 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


"How  infinite  must  be  the  compassion  of 
Almighty  God,  that  it  will  cover  my  sins  with 
a  mantle  of  charity!" 

And  when  Mr.  Hadley  had  sinned  almost  be- 
yond redemption,  God's  boundless  mercy  stepped 
in  and  showed  him  the  only  way  in  which  he 
could  escape  from  an  eternity  of  well-earned  pun- 
ishment. His  words  must  have  sunk  as  deeply 
into  the  hearts  of  other  Convicts,  as  they  did  into 
mine,  for  I  was  not  alone,  when,  after  the  service, 
I  eagerly  sought  him  in  the  warden's  office,  and 
felt  his  strong  hand-clasp. 

"I  thank  you  for  your  words,  Mr.  Hadley!"  I 
said  hesitatingly,  tears  gathering  in  my  eyes. 

"The  thief  on  the  cross,  breathing  his  last, 
brother,  cried  out  for  salvation,  and  our  Lord 
Jesus  interceded  for  him,  and  the  dying  one  was 
saved !  So  will  he  intercede  for  us  to-day  if  we 
ask  Him  in  simple  faith !" 

"The  thief  on  the  cross,  and  you  in  your  sins, 
were  holy  compared  with  my  shameless  life,"  I 
said,  in  a  voice  that  toned  faintly  in  my  own 
ears.  I  was  afraid  he  had  not  heard  me. 

"Christ's  precious  blood  was  shed  freely,  that 
the  whole  world  might  be  saved  from  sin,"  said 
Mr.  Hadley,  and,  continuing,  "that  same  blood 
was  shed  for  you,  my  brother !  Can  you  believe 
it?" 

"I  am  going  to  try,"  I  said. 

"When  do  you  leave  here?"  he  asked. 

"In  two  months." 


58 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


"As  soon  as  that?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  my  brother,"  he  said,  shaking  my  hand 
heartily,  "will  you  promise  to  call  on  me  at  the 
McAuley  Mission  in  Water  Street,  New  York, 
as  soon  as  you  are  free  ?" 

I  said  1  would,  and  it  was  useless  to  conceal 
the  tears  that  forced  themselves  in  my  eyes.  One 
fell  on  the  back  of  his  hand  clasping  mine. 

"God's  Holy  Spirit  is  striving  with  you  now,  my 
brother,"  he  said  fervently,  "so  don't  grieve  It  by 
sending  It  away.  Pray,  pray  for  help,  my  brother 
in  sin — and  now  farewell  till  we  meet  again — at 
the  Mission!" 

And  this  ended  my  first  interview  in  1899  with 
Samuel  H.  Hadley. 

True  to  my  promise  I  went  to  the  Mission,  at 
the  Water  Street  address,  and  was  accorded  a 
warm  reception.  Two  months  had  done  much  to 
harden  the  softening  influence  of  his  talk  in  the 
Prison.  His  warnings  had  ceased  to  ring  in  my 
ears,  and  I  had  again  resumed  my  close  compan- 
ionship with  that  subtle  of  all  deceivers — rum. 

Mr.  Hadley  was  a  keen  observer,  and  he  no 
doubt  saw  the  evidence  of  liquor's  reascendency 
over  me,  if  indeed  he  didn't  realize  that  the  reason 
for  keeping  my  promise  to  call  on  him  was  to  seek 
pecuniary  aid  to  supply  me  with  whiskey  and 
food,  rather  than  to  look  after  the  welfare  of  my 
soul. 


59 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


He  startled  me  in  a  most  abrupt  manner.  His 
quick  perception  of  my  condition  truly  demon- 
strated that  he  was  a  man  possessed  of  a  more 
than  ordinary  power  of  observation. 

"Why  don't'  you  take  a  tumble  to  yourself?"  he 
asked  in  a  stern  appreciation  of  the  valuable 
time  I  was  losing  in  making  peace  with  God. 
What  could  I  say  but  mumble  unintelligible 
words,  the  meaning  of  which  was  as  vague  to 
him  as  it  was  to  me?  He  saw  my  plight,  and, 
I  think,  pitied  me. 

\"Come  and  sit  here,  Mr.  White !"  he  said.  He 
motioned  to  a  place  on  a  sofa  in  his  office.  I  sat 
on  it  clumsily,  while  he  drew  up  his  arm  chair  and 
seated  himself  directly  in  front  of  me. 

"I'm  not  going  to  lecture  you  on  the  past,"  he 
said,  "so  don't  arm  yourself  for  a  defense  on  that 
score.  Also,  consider  me  a  friend,  no  matter 
what  happens  to  you  and  me !" 

I  felt  a  lump  rising  in  my  throat.  This  was  a 
man  so  utterly  different  from  any  other  I  had 
ever  met  in  missionary  work.  He  went  on: 

"I  speak  to  you  as  one  who  knows  what  it  is 
to  be  shipwrecked  in  a  vast  sea  of  sin,  without 
chart  or  compass,  and  then  to  have  the  Great 
Captain  of  us  all  come  along  on  the  good  ship 
Salvation,  and  throw  me  a  line.  This  Great 
Captain  said  to  me,  'Let  the  wicked  man  forsake 
his  way,  and  the  unrighteous  man  his  thoughts, 
and  let  him  return  unto  the  Lord,  for  he  will 
abundantly  pardon.'  And  instantly  I  was  in 


60 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


prayer.  I  asked  Him  if  that  message  was  meant 
for  the  thief  and  the  drunkard.  In  the  still,  small, 
but  unfailing  voice,  there  came  to  me  a  some- 
thing that  pointed  out  the  dying  thief  on  the 
cross.  My  brother,  I  took  courage  and  grasped 
the  rope  of  eternal  salvation  and  was  pulled  on 
board!  Soon  I  learned  that  the  ship's  chart  to 
guide  me  was  an  abiding  faith  in  Jesus,  and  that 
the  compass  was  found  in  a  fervent  uplifting  of 
the  heart  in  prayer  to  God." 

"But  I  can't  pray,  Mr.  Hadley,"  I  said.  "Once  I 
knew  how,  but  now  I  can't!  I  am  ashamed  to 
offer  Him  in  repentance  this  fragment  of  life  I 
have  left!" 

"The  thief  on  the  cross  was  wiser  than  you, 
Mr.  White/'  said  this  good  man. 

"Oh,  but  I  was  better  taught  in  youth  than  he, 
perhaps!"  I  argued,  a  feeling  of  opposition  pos- 
sessing me. 

"Don't  be  a  fool — don't  dissemble!"  he  cried. 
"Christ  died  to  save  both  you  and  me!  Do  you 
doubt  His  word?  Can't  you  feel  it  is  so?" 

I  was  tempted  of  the  devil,  it  seemed,  for  I  said, 
"It's  easy  to  be  a  Christian,  Mir.  Hadley,  when 
the  sailing  is  smooth.  You  have  comforts  here 
— you  want  nothing — you  are  not  beset  with  sin, 
while  I  am,  even  now,  beseiged  by  the  torments  of 
an  appetite  for  drink  that  I  can't  control,  and 
that  must  be  satisfied  or  I  believe  I  will  go  mad  i 
I  am  hungry  for  food,  too,  and  my  raiment  is 
this !"  and  I  showed  him  my  clothing,  which  too 


61 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


plainly  bore  the  label  of  the  recently  discharged 
Convict. 

"I  will  feed  and  clothe  you,  man!"  he  said, 
ignoring  my  reference  to  a  desire  for  drink. 
"Drive  those  things  from  your  mind,  my  dear  fel- 
low!' he  cried  aloud.  "It  is  your  soul  I  want  for 
Jesus!  In  the  name  of  God,  can't  you  see  how 
I  am  troubled  over  you  ?  Can't  you  realize  what  a 
reformed  thief  and  drunkard  is  saying  to  you?" 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,  Mr.  Hadley — forgive  me — 
— don't  think  I  am  ungrateful,  for  I'm  not — only 
— only.  1  am  so — so " 

"Remember,  man,  my  brother!"  he  exclaimed, 
at  the  top  of  his  musical  voice,  then  full  of  sobs, 
"that  some  day  you  will  have  to  stand  face  to 
face  with  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ!  Do  you  know 
that  ?  What  will  you  say  and  do  then  ?  Will  you 
plead  for  food  to  fill  your  stomach?  Will  you 
call  for  whiskey  to  satiate  that  damnable  thirst? 
What  will  you  do  then — in  God's  name,  I  say  to 
you  now,  what  will  you  say  when  you  come  face 
to  face  with  Jesus  Christ,  who  gave  His  blood 
to  save  you,  vile  as  you  are?" 

I  forgot  my  appetites,  forgot  I  was  hungry — 
everything  for  the  moment  was  swallowed  up  in 
the  sudden  knowledge  of  this  man  s  earnestness 
for  my  soul's  salvation. 

In  an  instant  he  was  standing  in  front  of  me, 
trembling  in  every  fibre  of  his  body,  his  crippled 
limb  forgotten  in  the  compassion  of  his  wrought- 
up  soul.  Then  he  fell  to  one  knee,  and  we  were 


62 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


face  to  face,  I  yet  sitting  on  the  sofa,  not  having 
changed  my  posture.  I  saw  that  he  was  in  agony 
— the  tears  were  coursing  down  his  cheeks — tears 
that  were  being  shed  for  me! 

"Down  on  your  knees — right  here !"  sobbed  Mr. 
Hadley.  "Right  here — beside  me!  God  is 
speaking  to  you  this  minute !  Can't  you  hear  his 
voice,  my  dear  brother?" 

He  caught  me  about  the  shoulders,  and  pulled 
me  to  my  knees,  and  we  were  together  beside 
the  sofa. 

"Pray!  pray!  my  brother  in  sin!"  he  urged 
brokenly.  "You  can't  pray  twice  in  dead  earnest 
without  having  faith  born  in  you !  I  never  knew 
it  to  fail !  'Twill  be  an  evidence  of  God's  spirit 
working  in  you !" 

I  was  choking  with  emotion — was  possessed  of 
a  new  sensation — but  I  seemed  to  feel  that  I  was 
not  in  the  mind  Mr.  Hadley  expected  me  to  be. 
Nevertheless,  I  was  shaking  with  a  chill  as  of 
approaching  death. 

"I  want  to  pray,  but  I  can't !"  I  said  in  a  voice 
that  was  almost  smothered  with  sobs. 

"You  can — you  must  pray!  Say  this,  'God  be 
merciful  to  me  a  sinner !' " 

'"God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner!"  I  said 
obediently. 

"God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner!"  repeated 
Mr.  Hadley  so  weakly  that  I  could  scarcely  catch 
his  words. 

"God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner !"  I  said  after 


63 


Penalty  and  Redemption 

him.  I  felt  as  though  I  had  done  something 
right,  but  I  was  not  in  the  realm  where  this 
godly  man  was. 

I  was  on  my  knees  in  his  office,  and  trying  to 
pray  as  he  bade  me  to.  With  him,  how  different. 
He  was  not  beside  me — I  realized  that.  The 
body,  the  clay,  was  there  in  the  little  office,  but 
Hadley,  the  man  of  God,  was  elsewhere!  Shall 
I  say  that  his  spirit  was  at  the  feet  of  his  God 
whom  he  adored,  pleading  for  me?  Ah,  it  must 
have  been  so !  How  he  prayed ! 

"Oh,  God,  I  pray  Thee  take  this  man's  sins 
away,  and  give  him  a  clean  heart!  Help  him  to 
know  how  to  believe — make  him  to  have  a  realiz- 
ing sense  of  his  utter  hopelessness  in  sin,  and  how 
anxious  Thou  art  to  save  him  from  everlasting 
damnation !  Oh  Christ,  hear  Thou  my  prayer  for 
his  deliverance!" 

His  words  died  away  in  an  agony  of  supplica- 
tion, after  which  he  rested  heavily  on  the  sofa, 
as  though  physically  exhausted.  I  remained  on 
my  knees  for,  perhaps,  five  minutes.  Meanwhile 
he  did  not  stir.  Then  he  rose  with  much  effort, 
and,  standing,  put  his  right  hand  in  mine.  I 
stood  up  beside  him.  He  pressed  my  hand  and 
smiled  wearily.  For  an  instant  it  seemed  as 
if  I  was  being  greeted  by  one  who  had  been  on 
a  long  journey  and  just  returned. 

"How  do  you  feel,  Mr.  White  ?"  he  asked  me. 

"I  don't  know!" 


64 


s  — 
" 


"2  < 


s  a 


v>    be 

.-§  I 

.'fe  "«3 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


"Don't  you  feel  that  your  soul  has  been  saved  ?" 
he  inquired  simply. 

I  shook  my  head  negatively,  but  the  act  only 
indicated  the  uncertainty  I  felt. 

"But  you  will  be  saved !"  he  said  with  a  posi- 
tiveness  that  I  regarded  in  wonderment.  "I 
feel — I  know  that  my  prayer  will  be  answered! 
Won't  you  try  to  pray  for  yourself  from  now 
on?  Oh,  the  religion  of  Jesus  Christ  is  wonder- 
ful, for  it  passeth  all  temporal  understanding !" 

I  bowed  my  head. 

"Ycu  are  resolved  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  Mr. 
White — of  that  I  am  sure !"  He  declared  this,  as 
one  having  a  complete  understanding.  , 

"With  God's  help,  Mr.  Hadley — and  will  you 
pray  for  me — always?" 

"Until  the  blessed  Saviour  calls  me  home,  and 
if  it  is  possible  that  I  can  approach  the  throne 
of  grace  there,  and  you  need  my  feeble  prayers, 
I  won't  forget!" 

Was  it  possible  that  this  reformed  drunkard 
and  transgressor  of  the  laws  of  God  and  man 
was  so  close  to  the  Saviour  that  he  heard  the  sum- 
mons that  was  soon  to  come: 

"Well  done,  good  and  faithful  servant,  enter 
thou  into  the  joy  of  thy  Lord !" 

I  was  hungry  when  I  went  to  the  Mission  and 
he  fed  me,  penniless  and  he  put  money  in  my 
pockets,  desperate  and  he  encouraged  me,  with- 
out hope  of  a  better  life,  and  he  pointed  out  the 
way  I  should  go. 


65 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


"You  don't  feel  that  you  have  been  saved,  Mr. 
White?"  Mr.  Hadley  asked,  as  he  gave  me  a 
parting  shake  of  the  hand. 

"I'm  afraid  not,  Mr.  Hadley,"  I  replied,  "but 
I  am  going  to  pray,  and  pray  hard,  and  somehow 
I  feel  there  is  hope  for  me!  But,  Mr.  Hadley,  I 
am  an  awful  sinner !" 

"Come  here  every  day!"  he  said.  "There  will 
be  none  more  welcome  than  you,  whether  you  are 
saved  or  unsaved!" 

Deep  in  my  heart  I  resolved  to  give  a  good 
account  of  myself  to  him,  even  though  I  failed  to 
experience  that  change  of  heart  which  seemed  to 
uplift  him  to  a  world  of  which  I  was  not  a  part. 
As  I  walked  away,  these,  his  words,  rang  in  my 
ears: 

"Remember,  man,  remember,  my  brother,  that 
some  day  you  will  have  to  stand  face  to  face  with 
Jesus  Christ!" 

That  memorable  visit  which  was  destined  to 
figure  prominently  in  my  after  experience,  was 
followed  by  many  others.  Whenever  I  saw  Mr. 
Hadley — which  was  often — he  was  always  the 
same  earnest  seeker  after  my  temporal  and  spir- 
itual welfare,  but  there  came  a  day  when  the 
tempter  found  me  disarmed — not  armed  and  for- 
tified with  that  saving  power,  that  breastwork  of 
Divine  creation,  which  defies  all  the  great  bat- 
teries which  Satan  and  his  cohorts  in  sin  can 
array  to  possess  a  saved  soul. 

I  had  been  trying  to  be  a  Christian,  bulwarked 


66 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


by  a  will  to  be  somebody,  and  to  do  something. 
Perhaps  I  may  call  it  a  determination  to  reform 
my  old  habits,  and  become  a  good  citizen,  and  in 
accomplishing  these  things,  show  Mr.  Hadley, 
with  pride,  what  I  could  do.  When  the  crucial 
test  came,  how  weak  was  the  mortal  to  with- 
stand it.  I  had  not  found  the  Saving  Grace 
which  would  have  enabled  me  to  cry  out  in  deri- 
sion: 

"Get  Ihee  behind  me,  Satan !" 

And  so  the  demon  rum  got  me  in  its  toils 
again,  and  down  I  went  before  it.  I  had  pulled 
myself  together,  found  employment  that  brought 
me  in  revenue  honestly  acquired,  and  was  in  a 
fair  way  to  win  the  full  confidence  of  those  who 
trusted  me,  despite  the  past,  when  the  crash  came. 
Before  it  self-pride  went  crumbling  to  destruction, 
swiftly  as  the  dust  flies  from  the  teeth  of  the 
hurricane. 

The  few  dollars  I  had  garnered  melted  in  drink 
at  the  end  of  a  week,  and  there  was  nothing  left 
to  satisfy  a  craving  for  rum  that  seemed  to  be 
intensified  ten  thousand  times  over  what  I  had 
ever  known.  The  thirst  I  had,  and  that  which 
would  satiate  it  I  must  have,  therefore  the  inev- 
itable followed.  I  stooped,  I,  the  bank  burglar 
who  had  stolen  millions,  stooped  to  mean,  petty 
forgeries!  But  I  got  what  I  madly  craved  for! 
It  must  be  mine — rum,  rum,  rum! 

When  the  revenue  from  the  first  forgery  was 
exhausted,  still  I  must  have  rum,  and  I  forged 


67 


Penalty  ana  Redemption 


again.  Then  came  the  penalty — discovery,  pur- 
suit, arrest,  and  the  Cell  in  the  Twenty-second 
Precinct  Police  Station,  New  York,  and  there,  in 
that  Cell,  Mr.  Hadley's  warning  was  awakened  in 
my  soul  by  the  words  of  a  vile,  profane,  debauched 
woman.  And  he  had  said: 

"Remember,  man,  remember,  my  brother,  that 
som<e  day  you  will  have  to  stand  face  to  face  with 
Jesus  Christ !" 

No,  I  will  not  permit  it  to  go  on  the  final  record 
that  these  words  from  the  lips  of  this  godly  man 
were  repeated  to  me  by  mere  chance.  That  I  will 
never  believe.  On  the  contrary,  I  have  an  abid- 
ing faith  that  the  woman  was  an  instrument  in 
God's  plan  for  the  salvation  of  my  soul,  and  that 
I  became  a  Christian  in  answer  to  Mr.  Hadley's 
prayer. 

And  so  I  went  on  to  pay  the  penalty  for  de- 
frauding my  fellow-man — that  I  might  quench 
my  thirst  for  rum. 

With  Mr.  Hadley  figuring  so  largely  in  my 
conversion,  is  it  small  wonder  that  I  was  sorely 
grieved,  after  emerging  from  a  three  days'  so- 
journ in  the  Black  Hole  of  Sing  Sing,  to  find  I 
had  been  cheated  of  an  opportunity  to  see  him  and 
tell  him  that  his  prayers  had  been  answered? 

Of  a  truth  I  wept  that  night  as  a  child  might, 
whose  dearest  wish  had  been  denied  it.  And  then 
I  prayed  for  strength  to  overcome  the  longing  to 
gratify  self-pride,  and  for  help  to  bear  with  forti- 
tude all  disappointments,  small  or  great,  knowing; 


68 


Penalty  ana  Redemption 


that  my  Master's  ways,  though  unaccountable  to 
the  human  mind,  are  none  the  less  unerring. 

Thereafter  I  had  no  distress  on  this  score. 
Though  I  was  not  permitted  to  see  Mr.  Hadley 
again  while  I  was  in  Prison,  I  was  amply  repaid, 
not  many  days  hence,  in  the  receipt  of  a  beautiful 
letter  from  him,  in  which  he  anxiously  inquired 
after  my  health  spiritually  and  physically. 

The  next  day,  through  Chaplain  Sanderson,  I 
obtained  writing  material,  and  the  same  night  I 
penned  Mr.  Hadley  a  long  reply.  And  undoubt- 
edly he  had  mingled  feelings  of  regret  and  joy 
in  reading  the  letter,  for  I  made  no  concealment 
of  what  had  happened  to  me,  from  the  day  we 
last  met,  until  my  conversion  in  the  Police  Sta- 
tion. Also,  I  told  him  I  had  not  sent  for  him 
to  visit  me  in  the  Station  House,  because  I 
desired  time  in  which  to  prove  myself  in  the  faith. 
I  carefully  withheld  any  reference  to  the  unpleas- 
antness which  fell  to  my  lot  as  a  member  of 
the  Third  Termers. 

"I  am  bearing  the  cross  with  the  help  of  God, 
Mr.  Hadley,"  I  wrote  him  in  conclusion,  "and 
the  way  is  bright!  I  have  been  freed  forever 
from  the  bondage  of  sin,  and  through  the  aid  of 
the  same  Divine  Power  I  am  now  serving  my 
last  term  in  a  Prison.  The  remainder  of  my 
poor  old  life  will  be  devoted  to  the  service  of  our 
blessed  Lord!" 


69 
^? 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN  THE  LIGHT  PATCH. 

The  subsequent  days  I  spent  in  Sing  Sing  were 
often  duplicates  of  the  one  on  which  Convict 
Tom  Baker  was  hastened  to  his  death. 

I  think  it  was  shortly  before  Christmas  that  I 
underwent  a  trial  which  sorely  drew  upon  my 
will,  and  exercised  my  faith.  It  was  after  I  had 
spent  a  terrible  day  of  labor  in  the  railroad  yard. 
The  weather  was  in  the  state  when  slush  was 
next  to  a  hair's  breadth  of  freezing,  and  shoes  that 
were  whole  amounted  to  nothing  as  guards  from 
three  inches  of  snow-water,  in  which  the  Third 
Termers  had  been  obliged  to  tramp.  As  the  soles 
of  my  shoes  were  worn  through  to  the  stockings, 
I  had  walked  in  this  slush  from  early  in  the 
morning  until  supper  time,  without  an  opportu- 
nity to  make  a  change. 

Cold,  wet,  fagged  to  a  thread,  my  determined 
spirit  exceedingly  tried,  with  an  almost  unshak- 
able sensation  of  depression,  I  half  dragged  my 
body  to  the  Cell,  and  dropped  on  the  cot  before 
the  turnkey  had  time  to  shoot  the  bolts  in  the 
door. 

The  blood  was  roaring  in  my  head  under  a 
painful,  feverish  pressure,  but  otherwise  I  was 
chilled  to  the  marrow,  and  shook  with  distressing 
violence.  I  lav  there  in  this  manner  for  several 


70 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


minutes,  with  my  eyes  closed,  hoping  thereby 
to  get  a  renewal  of  energy. 

Presently  my  nostrils  sensed  an  odor  that  in- 
creased in  pungency  every  moment,  until  the 
truth  dawned  upon  my  tardy  brain  with  an 
abruptness  amounting  to  a  shock.  It  set  my  head 
in  an  increased  whirl,  and  brought  forward,  with 
a  mighty  rush,  a  temptation  that  I  believed  could 
never  be  potent  again  to  disarm  me. 

Whence  had  come  the  fumes  of  whiskey? 

My  cold  extremities  began  to  take  on  warmth 
with  each  inhalation.  I  opened  my  eyes  curi- 
ously, but  found  the  cell  dark  save  for  a  small 
patch  of  brownish-yellow  light,  which  came  from 
a  lamp  in  the  corridor,  and  fell,  diagonally,  on  the 
stone  flooring  in  the  corner  just  opposite  my  cot. 

In  the  illuminated  space  sat  an  uncorked,  flat 
bottle ! 

It  was  two-thirds  full  of  an  amber  liquid ! 

Wis  it  the  devil's  own  subtlety  that  suggested 
the  thought  which  at  once  captured  me  ?  A  voice 
seemed  to  speak  in  sympathy.  I  could  not  explain 
the  why  and  wherefore  of  it. 

"Here  you  are,"  said  the  voice,  "a  poor,  weak, 
chilled,  old  man,  whom  death  is  courting,  and 
God,  in  His  wisdom  and  mercy,  has  produced 
that  which  will  provide  warmth  for  your  blood, 
renew  your  strength,  and,  best  of  all,  save  your 
life!" 

I  marvelled  at  this,  and  though  not  attempting 
to  rise  from  the  cot,  kept  my  eyes  fastened  to 


71 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


the  object  that  appeared  to  be  there  so  super- 
naturally. 

"God  has  sent  it  to  you  in  a  needed  hour,"  was 
the  persuasive  interpretation  of  my  thoughts. 
"You  are  direfully  ill  and  about  to  die,  but  this 
will  make  you  strong  for  the  work  God  has  saved 
you  to  do !  God's  ways,  in  providing  for  his  chil- 
dren of  the  faith,  are  indeed  devious,  and  often 
wonderful!  See,  you  are  almost  felled  with  the 
hardships  imposed  on  you  by  those  who  have  no 
regard  for  the  youth,  or  pity  for  the  aged  or 
infirm !  Here,  right  before  you,  is  an  elixir  when 
most  needed!" 

"What  is  in  the  bottle?"  I  said  half  aloud,  but, 
nevertheless,  I  had  no  doubt  of  its  nature,  for  its 
fragrance — always  to  me  fragrance — was  unmis- 
takable, and  answered  the  query.  Had  God  sent 
me  this  means  of  relief  from  the  awful  state  I 
was  in,  or,  were  these  meditations  only  creatures 
of  the  devil,  working  in  a  disordered  and  weary 
brain  ? 

I  struggled  up  excitedly  from  the  cot,  and 
staggered  to  the  corner.  Had  I  been  strong,  the 
light  spot  would  have  been  in  reaching  distance 
of  the  cot.  In  an  upright  position  my  figure  cast 
a  shadow  in  the  corner,  and  the  patch  of  light  was 
obscured.  Was  it  that  my  brain  had  really  fallen 
ill,  and  that  this  was  one  of  its  tantalizing  vaga- 
ries? 

I  swung  myself  sidewise  out  of  the  range  of 
light  so  that  it  shone  uninterruptedly  in  the  Cell 


72 


Underwood  &  Underwood 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wyburn  co-laborers  in  the  Work  of  Redeeming  the  Lost 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


again.  No !  I  had  not  been  laboring  under  a  delu- 
sion! Lunging  forward  I  caught  up  the  bottle, 
and  hysterically  and  swiftly  placed  its  neck  to 
my  lips. 

But  I  did  not  drink  from  it ! 

A  power  unseen,  but  strangely  felt,  stayed  mel 
Instead  I  set  it  down,  and  felt  for  the  cork,  which 
in  all  probability  was  on  the  floor.  I  found  it, 
tight-corked  the  bottle,  and  stepped  unsteadily 
back  to  the  cot. 

.Victory,  Victory! 

"What  a  tiny  victory  was  won !"  I  fancy  some- 
one will  say,  anent  this  rehearsal  of  an  evil  hour's 
experience  in  a  Prison  Cell. 

It  may  be,  indeed,  that  a  sneer  will  curl  the  lips 
of  the  one  unacquainted  with  the  habits  of  an 
habitual  drunkard.  To  me  it  was  an  hour  of 
awful  moment — of  terrible  import !  I  realized  it 
then,  and  its  force  is  with  me  even  to  this  day. 
It  was  a  triumph  to  me  of  so  great  a  degree,  that 
I  have  defied  criticism  to  tell  of  it,  that  those  of 
my  fellow-men,  cursed  with  a  lurking  appetite  for 
strong  drink,  may  find  comfort  in  these  words, 
and,  perhaps,  sympathize  with  me. 

For  hours  I  was  there  alone,  while  all  about  me 
was  silence,  save  for  the  occasional  steppings  of 
the  night  guard,  who,  at  intervals,  shuffled  along 
the  corridor  in  his  soft  shoes  of  felt.  It  is  need- 
less to  say  that  I  prayed  long  and  earnestly,  and 
that  a  calmness  overtook  me,  restfulness  sup- 
planted agitation,  warmth  drove  away  the  chill 


73 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


in  my  blood,  and  the  strength  of  a  strong  man 
superseded  the  weakling. 

When  I  awoke  after  three  hours  of  sleep  it 
was  time  to  begin  the  preliminaries  of  another 
day's  work,  but  I  was  rejuvenated,  both  in  soul 
and  body. 

The  bottle  of  whiskey  lay  under  the  cot  where 
I  put  it,  though  the  mystery  of  its  presence  in  my 
Cell,  and  what  purpose  it  was  to  serve,  were  still 
unsolved.  I  left  it  in  the  corner  of  the  Cell,  on 
going  to  work,  but,  as  I  expected,  it  was  gone 
when  I  returned  at  night.  The  hand  that  put 
it  there,  had,  undoubtedly,  taken  it  away. 

A  week  later  the  secret  was  revealed.  "The 
Kid,"  a  mischievous  First  Termer  who  occupied 
the  Cell  adjoining  mine,  and  from  which  Tom 
Baker  had  gone  forever,  was  its  author.  The 
news  came  to  me  through  "Little  Pete,"  a  friendly 
Third  Termer  who  worked  in  my  gang. 

"  'The  Kid'  heard  of  yo'r  relig'us  turn,  an* 
that  y'u'd  been  a  boozer,"  said  the  latter,  "an'  he 
put  up  the  job." 

"It's  strange  he'd  risk  parting  with  whiskey 
when  it's  so  hard  to  smXiggle  inside  the  walls!" 
I  remarked  wonderingly. 

"It  was  pizen!"  explained  "Little  Pete,"  with 
a  grin.  "He  stole  a  bit  of  wood  alcohol  from  the 
Paint  shop,  an'  dashed  it  with  some  whiskey. 
'Lookin'-glass'  Charley,  our  keeper,  give  him 
to  make  it  have  the  color  an'  the  smell !" 

"I  didn't  drink  the  stuff,"  I  said. 


74 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


"The  Kid"  bobbed  his  head  and  grinned. 

"No,  y'u  didn't!  That's  what's  hurtin'  'Look- 
in'-glass'  Charley!  I  guess  he  got  The  Kid'  to 
put  up  th'  job  on  ye!  Looks  like  it." 

"I  shall  never  let  liquor  pass  my  lips  again, 
Pete.  It  nearly  cost  me  my  soul,"  I  replied 
resolutely. 

"Ef  y'ud  drinked  th'  stuff  y'u'd  lost  y'ur  life, 
or  I'm  an  innocent  guy  from  Suckerville !  Don't 
say  I  told  y'u,  George!" 

And  thus  was  explained  the  thing  that  led  me 
to  give  momentary  consideration  to  temptation. 
But  even  the  effort  of  those  who  would  do  me 
harm  without  a  good  reason,  was  turned  to  my 
profit.  Thereafter  I  was  the  better  armed  to 
withstand  the  snares  of  the  tempter  that  were  ever 
set  along  my  path,  ready  to  catch  me  in  an  un- 
wary moment.  And  so  it  was  wood  alcohol  over 
which  I  had  nearly  stumbled !  Well,  I  had  seen 
the  time  when  I  would  have  risked  even  that 
poison  to  quench  the  thirst  of  a  whiskey-abused 
throat. 

"God  give  me  a  faith  that  is  as  immovable  as 
the  Rock  of  Ages,"  was  my  daily  prayer.  "Help 
me  to  breast  the  onslaught  of  evil !  If  it  combat' 
me,  warily,  within  these  Prison  walls,  how  much 
greater  will  be  the  need  of  Thee  out  in  the  world, 
where  temptations  are  innumerable,  and  a  thou- 
sand fold  more  alluring." 


75 


Penalty  and  Redemption 
CHAPTER  VI. 

ON  TO  THE  PORT  OF  DESPAIR. 

Toward  the  latter  part  of  February,  an  inci- 
dent which  set  the  officials  by  the  ears  for  fifteen 
minutes,  had  the  Prison  yard  for  its  scene.  Three 
of  the  Third  Termers  on  railroad  duty  made  an 
exciting  dash  for  liberty!  The  guards  were 
taken  completely  by  surprise. 

I  was  in  the  secret,  having  been  informed 
within  an  hour  prior  to  the  execution  of  the  plan 
of  escape.  I  would  not  have  known  of  it,  but 
for  the  fact  of  being  on  the  same  task  with 
them,  and  their  uncertainty  as  to  what  I  would 
do  in  the  emergency.  Probably  they  reasoned 
out  a  greater  possibility  of  success  if  I  were 
afforded  an  opportunity  to  join  them.  Whatever 
the  motive  was,  they  took  me  in  their  entire 
confidence. 

"The  next  freight  train  is  due  here  in  half  an 
hour!"  explained  one  of  the  would-be  escapers, 
mentioning  the  exact  time,  which  I  do  not  now 
recall,  "and  we're  goin'  to  make  a  break  for  it 
when  the  train  pulls  out  for  New  York!  Will 
you  come  along?  We'll  ride  a  short  distance,  and 
then  take  to  the  fields  or  woods !" 

I  declined. 

"Weil — you'll  squeal  on  us,  then?"  he  asked, 
snappishly. 

"I  shall  remain  neutral,"  I  assured  them,  "but 


76 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


if  I  were  in  the  place  of  either  of  you,  I'd  stick 
till  the  front  door  opened,  and  let  me  out  legally." 

"The  gates  won't  let  me  out  for  thirty  years,  on 
that  kind  of  schedule,  an'  then  it  '11  be  in  a  hem- 
lock box,"  growled  the  Convict  who  appeared  to 
be  the  ringleader. 

"And  for  me,  fifteen!"  said  the  second. 

"Twelve  for  mine!"  declared  the  third. 

"And  this  place,  with  its  grafters  and  brutes, 
is  more  of  a  hell  than  I  care  for !"  said  the  thirty- 
year  man.  "A  bullet  in  the  back  '11  be  pleasant 
medicine  t'  stayin'  here !" 

"Better  come  with  us,"  he  added. 

"No,"  was  my  decision.  "I'm  guilty,  and  that's 
why  I'm  here — I'm  paying  the  penalty!" 

"You  don't  think  the  judge  knew  he  was  send- 
ing you  t'  hell,  do  y'u?"  was  the  quick  interro- 
gation from  the  fifteen-year  man,  who  seemed 
to  be  desperate  enough  for  any  purpose. 

"Things  are  awfully  bad,  but  I'm  going  to 
stay!"  I  replied  in  a  tone  in  which  there  was 
not  a  scintilla  of  doubt. 

"Somethin'  tells  me  you  won't  squeal!"  the 
longest-term  prisoner  said  finally. 

"That  something  tells  you  the  truth,  for  I 
shall  be  looking  in  another  direction!" 

"Thanks  f'r  bein'  square !"  said  the  thirty-year 
man,  roughly. 

"You  can't  make  it,"  was  my  parting  warning, 
"and  then  things  will  be  worse."  I  couldn't  find 
it  in  my  heart  to  stand  in  the  way  of  these  men. 


77 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


Our  keeper  was  loitering  under  a  shed  some 
distance  away,  safely  housed  from  the  winter 
weather,  so  I  walked  away  from  the  desperate 
prisoners  to  another  car,  and  resumed  my  task 
of  shovelling  snow.  There  was  a  box  car  between 
us.  I  saw  to  it  that  this  was  so. 

Ten  minutes  later  a  long  freight  train,  hauled 
by  two  powerful  engines,  drew  up  to,  and  in 
front  of  the  Prison,  where  it  halted  with  a  great 
hissing  of  steam  and  clatter  of  frosty  steel  and 
iron.  Not  long  afterward  the  puffing  of  the  big 
locomotives  told  me  the  train  was  in  motion  again, 
and  on  its  way  out  of  Ossining.  I  continued  to 
work  my  shovel  briskly,  meanwhile  waiting  for 
the  inevitable.  It  came  directly  with  shouts  and 
accompanying  reports  from  discharged  firearms. 
Also  I  heard  the  clanging  of  the  alarm  bells  in 
the  Prison  inclosure,  signifying  that  the  head  offi- 
cials were  cognizant  of  what  was  going  on. 

The  jangle  of  the  departing  trains  was  decreas- 
ing in  volume,  and  now  and  then  I  heard  shots. 
Meanwhile  I  worked  and  wondered  what  had  hap- 
pened to  the  fugitives.  Had  they  really  gotten 
away  ?  I  did  not  think  it  possible.  At  this  junc- 
ture I  heard  the  sharp  blast  of  an  engine  whistle. 
I  knew  from  my  railroad  experience  that  it  meant 
down-brakes.  One  of  the  engineers  of  the  train 
had  been  informed  of  what  was  afoot.  This,  to 
me,  was  a  fair  indication  of  the  failure  of  the 
escapers'  dash  for  liberty. 

When  other  shots  were  heard,  a  moment  later, 


78 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


there  was  no  doubt  of  it  in  my  mind.  About 
this  time  a  guard  rushed  me  out  of  the  railroad 
yard,  and  within  the  Prison  walls.  Other  Con- 
victs of  the  Third  Termer  contingent,  were  sim- 
ilarly served.  As  for  myself,  I  was  more  than 
satisfied  to  get  in  out  of  the  cold,  and  no  doubt 
my  comrades  were  no  less  pleased. 

Before  reaching  the  seclusion  of  my  Cell,  the 
would-be  escapers  were  brought  in  and  placed  in 
solitary  confinement.  So  their  plan  for  freedom 
had  been  hopeless  from  the  beginning. 

In  the  first  place,  they  had  not  bribed  any  of  the 
officials,  therefore  their  chance  of  success  was 
not  one  in  a  hundred.  I  can  not  prove  it,  but  I 
make  bold  to  say,  that  in  every  case  where  a  Con- 
vict successfully  escaped  from  Sing  Sing,  he  was 
abetted  in  his  plans  by  an  official.  That  much 
for  what  I  think  of  the  security  of  Sing  Sing,  if 
those  in  command  are  faithful  to  the  State. 

The  incident  of  the  Third  Termers'  attempt  to 
rid  themselves  of  Prison  environment,  carried  me 
back  to  my  first  term  in  Sing  Sing.  Once  more  I 
compared  the  George  White  of  that  period,  with 
the  George  White  of  the  later  day,  supported  by 
a  strong  faith  in  the  power  of  God  to  change  the 
heart  of  a  reckless  sinner.  When  the  opportunity 
came  then  to  evade  serving  the  sentence  rightfully 
imposed,  how  eager  I  was  to  avail  myself  of  it. 
Indeed,  I  knew  what  it  was  to  dash  for  liberty  by 
hiding  myself  in  a  canal  boat  moored  at  the 
Prison  side  of  the  river  for  the  purpose.  And, 


79 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


after  that  desperate  attempt  resulted  in  failure,  I 
knew  what  it  was  to  ride  out  of  the  Prison  yard 
in  my  own  carriage,  which  was  rendered  avail- 
able through  a  subtle  plan  that,  perhaps,  has 
never  been  equalled.  Failure  was  not  recorded  in 
the  Prison  books  on  that  occasion. 

But  a  great  transformation  had  come  over  me. 
I  was  no  longer  desperate  and  yearning  for  an 
opportunity  to  escape  from  the  penalty  of  my  own 
wrong-doing.  I  had  sinned,  and,  my  sins  finding 
me  out,  I  was  paying  the  penalty.  But  for  my 
conversion,  the  offer  of  the  Third  Termers  to  join 
them,  however  hopeless  the  plan  appeared,  would 
have  been  accepted,  and  regarded  as  a  reckless 
chance  which  might  be  taken  as  a  means  of  de- 
feating justice !  It  was  with  extreme  satisfaction 
and  heart-sincere  gratitude  to  an  all-wise  Provi- 
dence, therefore,  that,  "I  lay  me  down  to  sleep," 
in  my  Cell  that  night. 

The  following  morning  dawned  with  a  clear 
sky  and  a  decided  change  in  the  temperature. 
The  harsh  northwesterly  winds  which  had 
blown  strongly  and  steadily  for  upwards  of  four 
days  had  shifted  to  the  south  during  the  night. 
Though  there  was  a  perceptible  dampness  in  the 
atmosphere,  it  held  a  degree  of  warmth  in  it  that 
was  most  acceptable,  and,  altogether,  I  began  a 
day  with  a  more  comfortable  feeling  than  I  had 
known  since  the  beginning  of  my  incarceration. 
It  dosed  with  a  happening  which  filled  me  with 
dismay ! 


80 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


A  batch  of  Third  Termers  had  been  ordered  to 
prepare  for  removal  to  Clinton  Prison  at  Danne- 
mora,  N.  Y.,  the  next  day,  and  I  was  of  the 
number.  Despite  my  faith  that  all  would  be  for 
the  best,  I  went  to  bed  feeling  keenly  apprehen- 
sive of  what  the  morrow  would  bring  forward. 
I  was  worried,  and  felt  spiritually  weaker  than  I 
deemed  it  possible  for  me  ever  to  be  again.  Most 
earnestly  I  prayed  for  a  stanch  heart  with  which 
to  bravely  meet  any  evil  which  might  beset  me. 

I  trust  that  those  who  read  these  lines  will 
refrain  from  thinking  me  vacillating  between 
faith  and  distrust.  And,  in  justice  to  myself,  I 
wish  to  protest  against  this  in  the  fullest  sense. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  I  do  not  believe  it  is  within 
the  province  of  the  normal,  human  being,  unac- 
quainted with  "time  service"  in  Clinton  Prison, 
to  pass  judgment  upon  the  expressions  of  a  Con- 
vict who  has  been  there,  and  endured  the  conse- 
quent hardships. 

Among  Convicts,  Clinton  Prison  was  spoken  of 
in  horror,  as  the  Port  of  Despair,  through  whose 
dark  channel  of  approach  one  voyaged  only  to 
leave  behind  all  signs  of  hope.  Consignment  to 
Sing  Sing  was  held  as  ignominy  intensified,  from 
the  view-point  of  a  Third  Termer,  but  to  dwell 
in  Clinton,  as  a  "transfer,"  personified  if  you 
please,  was  to  be  heaped  with  a  superlative  degree 
of  amalgamated  sorrow,  shame  and  degradation! 

To  a  Convict  in  either  Sing  Sing  or  Auburn, 
the  mention  of  Clinton  was  synonymous  with 


81 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


hope  buried  in  a  Wilderness  of  Despair,  from 
which  there  was  no  chance  of  resurrection.  Re- 
form, in  the  same  thought-cycle  with  Clinton, 
was  too  remote  for  contemplation,  since  it  was 
regarded  as  among  the  events  non-existent  there. 

To  the  hardened  criminal,  Clinton  was  a 
scourge  whose  welts  sank  into  his  soul,  so  to 
speak,  and  rendered  him  a  more  bitter  and  dan- 
gerous enemy  of  society  than  ever.  Clinton 
Prison  existed  as  moulded  iron,  a  die  that  indel- 
ibly stamped  the  soul  of  a  Convict  with  the  brand 
of  "felon  eternal,"  from  whose  bourne  none  hope 
to  return. 

To  the  criminal  who  became  such  through 
misfortune  rather  than  by  premeditation,  Clinton 
was  the  doleful  bell  that  tolled  the  death-knell  of 
better  and  higher  things.  Its  tones  suggested 
the  Tomb  of  Shattered  Ideals.  Not  in  one,  single 
vibration  was  there  heard  music  pitched  to  the 
key  of  salvation  for  the  immortal  soul  through 
the  Blood  shed  on  the  cross!  Of  a  truth,  there 
was  nothing  in  Clinton  to  indicate  that  a  soul 
existed  in  the  clay  of  a  Convict.  No,  no,  no,  no ! 
Clinton,  with  its  lean,  elongated  fingers,  beck- 
oned to  all  a  promise  of  fellowship  of  lost  souls, 
harvested  as  Satan's  playthings  in  an  eternity 
of  wailing  and  gnashing  of  teeth ! 

The  blessed  words  of  Almighty  God,  as  ac- 
cepted there,  were  at  best,  but  a  feeble  pretense, 
and  in  reality  an  open  delusion,  while  prayer  was 
an  empty  vessel,  from  which  imps  merrily  quaffed 


82 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


and  shouted  in  ribaldry  over  the  chaos  of  immor- 
tal souls!  Hypocrisy  was  rampant,  sin  stalked 
in  a  thin  robe  of  innocence,  and  the  only  god  that 
really  reigned  there  was  Mammon,  whose  sway; 
was  imperial  through  the  magic  sceptre  of  gold. 

This  word-picture  of  Clinton  had  been  drawn 
for  me  by  one  whose  veracity  I  accepted  without 
question.  Thus  vividly  enlightened,  is  it  remark- 
able that  I  regarded  my  removal  to  that  Port 
of  Despair  with  affright?  In  the  light  of  subse- 
quent acquaintance  with  material  things  there,  I 
fully  realized  what  absolute  terror  would  have 
been  my  portion,  but  for  the  grace  of  God  which 
sustained  me,  and  in  due  season,  taught  me  to  be 
unafraid. 

The  weeks  I  was  in  Sing  Sing,  as  I  have 
already  said,  developed  one  true  friend  in  the 
person  of  Chaplain  Sanderson..  He  had  precious 
little  influence  there,  to  be  sure,  being  a  good 
man,  and,  unfortunately,  this  was  so,  for  a  reason 
that  was  proverbial.  No  really  good  man  has 
unlimited  influence  in  spiritual  affairs  in  a  politi- 
cal camp.  But  Chaplain  Sanderson  did  the  best 
he  could,  and  was,  in  consequence,  a  spiritual  aid 
to  me,  who  sought  no  favors  of  a  material  kind, 
nor  expected  any.  He  was  aware  of  my  intense 
desire  to  pay  the  penalty  in  full,  and  often  I 
found  great  cheer  and  encouragement  in  his  com- 
forting words. 

I  saw  him  in  the  reception  room  the  next  day, 
not  long  prior  to  the  departure  of  our  gang. 


83 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


"Keep  up  the  good  fight !"  he  said,  as  a  fare- 
well, "and  remember,  you  can't  lose  with  God  on 
your  side!" 

The  Chaplain  if  he  knew  did  not  say  why  I 
was  selected  for  transfer  to  Clinton,  nor  did  I  ask 
him.  I  only  hoped  that  what  seemed  to  forecast 
the  worst  for  me,  would  ultimately  turn  out  to 
be  the  best.  At  any  rate  I  was  determined  to 
intrench  myself  in  the  faith,  trusting  that  it  might 
be  the  latter. 

Handcuffed  and  chained  to  a  comrade  I  passed 
out  of  the  ominous  portals  of  Sing  Sing,  never  to 
enter  them  again.  A  reverse  thought  did  dwell 
with  me  for  a  moment,  and  I  wondered  if  the 
"Never  to  enter  them  again,"  might  only  mean  as 
a  criminal.  Might  it  not  be  my  glorious  privilege 
to  return  some  day  with  a  word  of  hope  for  these 
men,  tossing  in  troubled  waters  without  an  anchor 
of  faith  cast  to  windward,  sufficient  to  weather 
them  through  the  breakers  of  sin? 

Perhaps  not,  but  who,  aside  from  God,  could 
know? 


84 


Penalty  and  Redemption 

• 

CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   GRAFTING  CHAPLAIN. 

It  was  before  noon  when  Clinton  Prison  loomed 
up  dark  and  forbidding  on  our  horizon.  An  in- 
voluntary shudder  went  through  me,  however 
much  I  had  steeled  myself  against  what  I  knew 
must  come. 

"Well,  we  're  in  for  it,"  commented  the  Convict 
at  my  side. 

"And  must  make  the  very  best  of  it,"  I  said, 
inadvertently  picking  up  his  train  of  thought. 

"The  best  of  it!"  he  replied,  contemptuously. 
"It 's  the  worst  of  it.  Say,  White — I  never  expect 
to  be  nearer  hell  than  that  place — that  is  it — 
hell!" 

"You  speak  so  positively,"  I  remarked,  half 
suspecting  what  he  would  next  say. 

"You  've  seen  pictures  of  the  devil,  and  so 
imagine  about  what  his  Satanic  Majesty  looks 
like !"  stated  my  companion.  "Now  I  don't  have 
to  imagine  Clinton  is  a  hell,  for  I  know  it — I've 
been  there !" 

I  had  not  known  it,  and  in  reality  I  was  in  no 
mood  to  talk.  And,  I  was  not  accepting  the  situ- 
ation as  calmly,  and  heroically,  as  I  had  planned. 

"I've  never  had  a  good  thought  since  I  got  out 
of  the  place,"  he  continued,  "for  they  made  a 
devil  of  me !  I  feel  that  I'll  kill  some  one  before 
I  get  out  of  it!" 


85 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


I  said  nothing.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  he  was 
in  no  mood  to  tolerate  curses  or  kindnesses.  Be- 
sides, I  was  gloomy  enough  and  found  no  con- 
solation in  his  belligerency.  Not  long  after  this 
we  were  inside  the  Prison  gate.  As  my  record 
had  preceded  me  there  I  felt  I  was  a  marked 
man,  and  need  expect  no  mercy.  Perhaps  this 
sensation  was  the  means  of  driving  me  yet  closer 
to  the  Divine  Protector.  Be  that  as  it  may,  I 
went  to  sleep  on  my  hard  bed  soon  after  night- 
fall, with  an  earnest  prayer  for  moral  and  physical 
strength  to  stand  the  storm. 

The  following  morning  I  turned  out  to  a  task 
of  odds  and  ends  about  the  Prison  and  yard. 
During  the  day  I  saw  a  man  in  civilian  attire  pass 
through  the  Prison  inclosure  and  enter  one  of 
the  shops.  His  pompous  air  at  once  captured  my 
attention.  In  the  bosom  of  his  white  shirt  front, 
a  diamond  solitaire  gleamed  magnificently  and 
my  thoughts  placed  him  among  the  Prison  offi- 
cials. That  he  was  not  the  warden  I  knew,  but 
that  he  might  be  an  assistant  who  was  excused 
from  wearing  the  uniform,  seemed  to  be  within 
reason.  I  asked  a  Convict  who  had  been  in  Clin- 
ton for  two  or  more  years  to  gratify  my  curiosity. 

"That's  the  dominie,"  he  asserted. 

"The  dominie?  Do  you  mean  the  Prison 
Chaplain?"  I  inquired  in  amazement 

"He's  the  guy — don't  be  surprised!"  said  my 
informant. 

"But — that  big  diamond  I"  I  exclaimed. 


86 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


"Don't  you  mind  him — he's  queer !  You'll  see 
and  hear  stranger  things  than  that,  if  you  stay 
long  enough !" 

I  could  scarcely  believe  my  eyes  and  ears.  So 
this  man,  who  had  the  air  of  a  gross  politician 
more  than  of  a  minister  of  the  Gospel,  was  Chap- 
lain J.  E.  Metcalf,  the  counsellor  to  whom  a  Con- 
vict of  Clinton  must  go,  should  he  want  spiritual 
guidance. 

Will  it  cast  a  reflection  upon  my  faith  in  God's 
promises,  if  I  admit  that  I  was  beset  with  a  feel- 
ing of  heaviness?  I  had  so  fondly  hoped  to  find 
a  devout  Chaplain  in  Clinton,  who  would  lend 
me  a  helping  hand  over  rough  places.  Now,  I 
could  not  harmonize  my  ideal  with  the  coarse, 
be- jewelled  fellow  who  had  just  passed  before  my 
eyes.  But  my  knowledge  of  Clinton's  Chaplain 
was  not  to  end  yet. 

"It  will  be  a  duty  well  performed,"  said  a 
Christian  man  with  whom  I  discussed  this  Chap- 
lain in  after  days,  "if  you  make  known  to  the 
public,  somewhat  of  the  scandalous  under-current 
of  Clinton  Prison.  Tremendous  efforts  have  been 
put  forth  by  godly  men  and  women,  of  late  years, 
to  reform  Convicts  in  Clinton,"  he  added,  "but 
how  can  such  Christian  influences  be  efficacious 
among  the  men,  when  we  have  'whited  sepulchres' 
in  the  Prison's  corps  of  officials,  to  minimize 
every  bit  of  good  attempted  ? 

"Why,"  he  continued,  warming  up  hugely  with 
righteous  indignation,  "take  Chaplain  Metcalf, 


87 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


for  instance !  His  comings  and  goings  were  com- 
mon gossip,  and  a  scandal  among  the  very  men 
we  would  rescue  from  the  devil's  trap  of  sin.  He 
was  sent  there  as  a  protege  of  a  former  Prison 
superintendent.  To  my  certain  knowledge  he 
did  not  go  among  the  prisoners,  and,  it  is  a 
lamentable  fact,  that  pathetic,  appealing  letters 
from  Convicts  seriously  ill  in  the  hospital,  and 
desirous  of  spiritual  encouragement,  were  brutally 
ignored  by  him.  Why  he  thus  betrayed  the  in- 
junctions of  the  Lord  to  minister  to  the  spiritu- 
ally sick,  I  am  unable  to  surmise.  I  only  know 
that  his  neglect  in  this  regard  was  an  open  scan- 
dal among  the  Convicts.  More  than  one  curled 
his  lip  in  scorn,  and  pointed  out  this  man  as  a 
fine  exponent  of  religious  teachings!" 

He  paused  a  moment. 

"It  grieves  me  sorely  to  say  it,"  this  Christian 
gentleman  proceeded,  "but  something  ought  to  be 
done  quickly,  and  with  as  little  injury  to  the 
cause  as  possible,  to  remedy  such  evil  conditions. 
Not  that  Chaplain  Metcalf  was  not  an  eloquent 
preacher.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  a  prince  in 
oratory,  but,  unfortunately,  the  neglect  of  his 
charges,  his  swagger,  his  be-diamonded  shirt  front 
and  his  general  reputation,  lost  him)  the  respect 
of  those  he  was  presumed  to  care  for  with  the 
solicitude  of  a  good  and  faithful  shepherd  of 
the  flock !" 

I  was  not  a  little  impressed  by  the  emphasis 
with  which  my  friend  spoke  of  the  general  repu- 


88 


Penalty  ana  Redemption 


tation  of  Chaplain  Metcalf,  and  referred  to  that 
part  of  his  statement. 

"It  grieves  me  to  tell  of  his  reprehensible  con- 
duct," he  continued,  "for  I  can  scarcely  conceive 
of  a  minister  of  the  Gospel  being  so  utterly  dis- 
regardful  of  the  sanctity  of  the  cloth.  His  char- 
acter, as  known  to  the  Convicts,  was  of  such  ex- 
treme worldliness,  and  so  identified  with  men 
and  women  of  questionable  repute  in  the  city  of 
Plattsburg,  a  few  miles  from  Dannemora,  as  to 
create  contempt  for  religion  in  the  minds  of  non- 
professing  Christians. 

"In  Clinton  it  was  optional  with  the  inmates 
whether  or  not  they  attended  Divine  service.  To 
demonstrate  to  you  the  effect  of  the  Chaplain's 
misconduct  on  these  men,  I  must  tell  you,  that, 
whereas  there  was  an  attendance  of  more  than 
nine  hundred  each  Sunday  at  the  beginning  of 
his  service  there  was  at  the  close  of  it  not  one 
quarter  of  the  number !  Can  you  imagine  a  more 
terrible  rebuke  for  a  minister  of  the  Gospel  than 
that?  I  certainly  can  not." 

The  period  with  which  this  recital  has  to  do 
was  prior  to,  and  included  the  twenty  months  I 
was  in  Clinton.  Some  time  after  my  release,  the 
scandal  attached  to  Chaplain  Metcalf  became 
so  much  of  a  stench  in  the  nostrils  of  officialdom, 
that  it  could  be  no  longer  tolerated.  Relief  came, 
finally,  in  his  transfer  to  another  Prison.  Unless 
I  am  in  error,  it  was  during  Chaplain  Metcalf  s 
stay  in  Clinton  that  his  wife  died,  and  within 


89 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


a  year,  he  was  wedded  again,  the  new  wife  bring- 
ing him  a  handsome  and,  no  doubt,  acceptable 
fortune. 

While  I  was  painfully  impressed  with  the 
knowledge  of  the  Chaplain's  betrayal  of  his 
Divine  commission,  it  bore  me  back  to  the  first 
term  I  served  in  Sing  Sing.  Rev.  Dr.  Schoon- 
maker  was  the  Chaplain  then,  and,  like  Chaplain 
Metcalf,  left  a  bad  impression  among  the  Con- 
victs. But  he  was  not  guilty,  so  far  as  I  have 
been  informed,  of  congregating  with  unchaste  as- 
sociates. His  tendency  was  irrepressibly  toward 
graft,  and  the  victims  of  his  cupidity,  were,  nat- 
urally, the  Convicts  of  his  spiritual  flock,  many  of 
whom  found  him  out  to  their  financial  cost.  He 
had  a  well-defined  price  for  anything  he  was 
asked  to  do. 

At  the  outset,  the  favors  he  obtained  for  Con- 
victs were  of  the  perfunctory  sort,  though  politi- 
cally negotiated.  While  these,  in  the  main,  were 
small,  special  privileges,  they  were,  almost  in- 
variably, violations  of  Prison  regulations,  and  de- 
cidedly should  not  have  been  trafficked  in  by 
any  one,  least  of  all  a  clergyman!  However,  in 
the  beginning  the  Convicts  did  not  regard  his 
purchased  aid  with  any  particular  disapproval. 
As  time  progressed,  his  eagerness  to  acquire  gold 
through  this  channel,  outgrew  all  bounds  of  what 
they  termed  decency. 

Eventually  the  Chaplain's  appetite  for  graft 
became  voracious.  He  would  accept  it  without 


90 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


pretense  of  giving  any  value  in  return.  I  have 
no  doubt,  that,  in  the  beginning,  he  would  have 
resented  the  imputation  that  he  was  doing  wrong 
in  any  way.  But  gradually,  step  by  step,  he  ad- 
vanced in  the  sin,  until,  at  the  end,  he  had  com- 
mitted crimes,  which,  if  discovered  and  acted 
upon  by  the  authorities,  would  have  landed  him 
in  Prison  stripes. 

As  an  example  of  the  power  of  habit,  and  in 
the  hope  of  drawing  attention  to  many  grave  evils 
existing  in  Prison  management  to-day,  I  will 
relate  the  story  of  one  Convict's  experience  with 
Chaplain  Schoonmaker: 

Three  hours  before  a  batch  of  men  was  to  be 
transferred  to  Auburn  Prison,  I  met  Joe  Bain, 
who  was  doing  a  term  for  a  crime  committed 
in  New  York  City,  where  he  lived  with  his  wife 
and  family — a  better  wife,  according  to  this  man, 
a  wicked,  misguided  husband  never  had. 

"Are  you  going  to  be  shipped  to  Auburn?"  he 
asked  me  in  a  commiserating  tone. 

"No,  I  am  happy  to  say!"  I  replied.  "Are 
you?" 

Joe  smiled. 

"Thank  heaven,  no !"  he  said,  with  a  burst  of 
feeling  that  told  me  plainer  than  words  how  glad 
he  was.  I  think  he  had  time  only  to  give  vent  to 
this  expression  of  relief,  when  a  messenger  has- 
tened up  and  said  something  to  him  in  a  subdued 
voice.  My  friend's  face  turned  white,  as  he 
whirled  around  to  the  messenger. 


91 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


"Good  God !"  he  exclaimed.  "It  can't  be  true! 
I  don't  believe  it !" 

"But  the  order  for  you  is  to  get  ready,"  said 
the  bad  news  bearer,  as  he  walked  rapidly  away. 
Bain  turned  to  me.  I  looked  in  his  troubled  face 
for  an  explanation.  It  came. 

"I'm  to  go  to  Auburn,"  he  said.  "I  can't  under- 
stand it — there  is  some  mistake." 

"You  're  on  the  list  to  go,"  I  said. 

"Yes,  I  know — I  was  to  go,  but  I  fixed  it !" 

"You  gave  up  money  to  some  one  ?"  I  asked. 

"Yes — to  Chaplain  Schoonmaker — Four  Hun- 
dren  Dollars!  He  wouldn't  flimflam  me,  would 
he?" 

"Certainly  not !  Look  him  up !  They  've  simply 
neglected  to  erase  your  name  from  the  transfer 
list,"  I  told  him,  adding,  "When  does  the  batch 
start?" 

"In  less  than  three  hours!  What'll  I  do?" 

I  advised  him  to  look  up  the  Chaplain. 

"Will  you  help  me?"  he  asked.  I  was  having 
the  freedom  of  the  Prison  just  then,  and  felt  dis- 
posed to  assist  him  out  of  his  predicament.  He 
rushed  away,  saying  he  would  meet  me  in  the 
same  place  in  half  an  hour.  I  started  out  for 
the  Chaplain  in  another  direction.  We  returned 
as  soon  as  possible.  Neither  of  us  could  find  our 
man.  I  was  flabbergasted  at  the  result  of  my 
hunt,  while  Bain  was  in  a  furious  mood. 

"The  thief!  What  do  you  think  of  him?"  he 
howled,  until  I  cautioned  him. 


92 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


"It's  a  hard  thing  to  believe  of  him,"  I  said, 
"for  a  crook  would  be  square  in  a  deal  of  this 
kind." 

"It's  plain  he's  got  my  Four  Hundred,  and  I've 
got  to  go!"  Bain  said,  grinding  his  teeth  sav- 
agely. "But  what  will  poor  Mary  think?  She 
worked  hard  to  save  that  money !" 

Mary  was  the  malefactor's  wife.  She  kept  a 
small  boarding  house  in  New  York  from  which 
she  supported  herself  and  the  children.  The 
money  that  Chaplain  Schoonmaker  had,  she'd 
saved  as  a  fund  to  provide  her  husband  with 
small  comforts,  which  she  brought  to  him  as 
often  as  the  Prison  rules  would  permit.  With  her 
husband  in  Auburn,  when  could  she  see  him? 
Auburn  Prison  was  nearly  three  hundred  miles 
further  from  New  York  than  Sing  Sing. 

"I'll  get  the  money  back,  or  kill  him!"  Bain 
said  to  me,  just  before  he  left  the  Prison.  Strong 
man  that  he  was,  the  tears  choked  him.  And  I 
felt  the  utmost  sympathy  for  him.  He  went 
away  to  Auburn,  where  he  completed  a  long  term. 
Circumstances  were  so  ordered  that  he  never  met 
Chaplain  Schoonmaker  again,  nor  did  he  ever  see 
the  color  of  his  Four  Hundred  Dollars. 

Upon  making  an  investigation,  with  a  view  of 
ascertaining  where  Chaplain  Schoonmaker  was 
when  Bain  left  Sing  Sing,  I  found  he  was  at- 
tending a  meeting  of  an  Aid  Society  conducted 
in  the  village  of  Sing  Sing  by  young  women,  and 
that  he  contributed  a  few  dollars  to  the  cause. 


93 


Penalty  ana  Redemption 
CHAPTER  VIII. 

PETER  JAMES  AND  OTHERS. 

"Fall  in— fall  in!  Ready—  quick!  March!" 

Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  tramp, 
tramp,  tramp,  tramp! 

"Halt— lock  up!" 

In  five  minutes  I  was  in  my  Cell,  the  great  key 
in  the  lock  turned,  and  the  bolt  shot  home  with  a 
snap  that  was  startling.  So  far  as  I  could  then 
ascertain,  what  happened  to  me,  came  to  every 
other  man  in  the  Prison.  What  was  the  portent 
of  this  precipitate  evacuation  of  shops,  and  every 
near  and  far  corner  of  the  Prison  yard,  I  could 
not  fathom.  Not  a  word  had  fallen  from  the  lips 
of  the  keepers,  from  the  principal  down,  to  solve 
the  mystery. 

We  had  only  marched  from  the  dinner-room 
to  the  various  stations  where  our  respective  duties 
called  us,  when  the  hasty  command  came  that 
drove  us  all  Cellward. 

I  listened  intently  to  catch  a  word  from  my 
adjoining  Cellmates,  that  would  throw,  even  a 
glimmer  of  light  on  a  happening  that  had  no 
equal  in  my  Convict  life. 

Every  man  was  silent! 

For  once,  the  code  of  communication  between 
Cells  was  impotent,  but  for  what  reason  I  was 
not  able  to  guess.  My  evening  meal,  as  usual, 
and  that  of  every  other  prisoner  for  aught  I  knew, 


94 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


was  served  in  the  Cell.  When  I  awoke  in  the 
morning  the  mystery  was  yet  unrevealed.  My 
breakfast  was  brought  to  me,  and  my  neighbors 
were  similarly  served. 

But  at  noon  the  leak  came,  and  like  a  flash,  too. 
My  neighbor  to  the  left  got  it  from  his  end  of 
the  wing.  It  came,  being  passed  from  Cell  to 
Cell,  by  the  Convicts'  telegraph,  in  language 
something  like  this : 

"Four  men  escaped  yesterday!  None  has  been 
captured !" 

That  was  the  message  I  got,  and  that  was  why 
we  had  been  hurried  to  our  Cells  the  day  before 
so  expeditiously.  Beyond  the  definite  informa- 
tion that  four  of  the  men  in  the  Tin  shop  had 
escaped,  nothing  further  was  learned  until  after 
we  had  passed  the  fourth  day  in  our  Cells. 

On  the  morning  of  the  sixth  day,  the  old  rou- 
tine was  resumed,  and  we  found  ourselves  picking 
up  the  lines  of  duty  we  had  so  suddenly  dropped. 
There  was  no  attempt  on  the  part  of  the  officials 
to  withhold  the  sequel  to  the  plan  of  escape. 

"The  foxes  have  been  trapped!"  was  the  mes- 
sage that  the  keepers  spread  broadcast  among  the 
nine  hundred  inmates. 

And,  it  must  be  so!  There  was  a  lesson  for 
the  nine  hundred  to  know,  and  they  should  be 
taught  it.  The  lesson  was  the  complete  knowl- 
edge of  the  futility  of  trying  to  escape  from  Clin- 
ton Prison.  This  must  be  made  obvious  to  all. 
And  here  it  was — the  warning : 


95 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


"The  bloodhounds  ran  them  down — trapped 
them  at  the  threshold  of  death !  One  was  shot !" 

"Gone  before  the  Great  Judge,  unsaved  1"  I 
thought  with  a  pang.  Subsequently  I  gained  a 
brief  account  of  the  escape  from  Peter  James, 
who  planned  it  from  the  beginning  to  the  end, 
which  came  in  so  lamentable  a  failure. 

I  have  not  arrogated  to  myself  the  high  prov- 
ince of  criticising  these  men.  Whether  they  did 
right  or  wrong,  is  a  matter  which  will  have  to  be 
settled  between  them  and  their  Maker.  I  only 
know  that  the  disciplinary  measures  to  which 
Principal  Keeper  James  B.  Fulton  resorted,  upon 
assuming  his  office  in  Clinton,  were  so  unneces- 
sarily drastic,  and  so  inordinately  iniquitous,  that 
many  of  the  inmates  were  driven  to  desperation. 
Even  this  woeful  condition  would  not  impel  me  to 
yield  up  this  narrative  to  the  world,  so  impressed 
was  I  with  the  idea  that  the  unrighteous  man 
should  pay  the  price  of  his  misdoings  without 
complaint,  were  it  not  for  the  fact  that  Peter 
James  was,  and  is  to-day,  innocent  of  the  crime 
of  murder,  for  which  he  was  imprisoned. 

James  was  in  a  lawless  gang  bent  on  theft,  and 
the  locality  of  the  operation  was  in  Westchester 
County,  New  York.  He  was  strictly  opposed  to 
the  shedding  of  blood,  and  at  all  times  avoided 
conditions  having  the  slightest  tendency  in  that 
direction. 

It  appears  that  one  of  the  gang  was  unex- 
pectedly drawn  into  a  trap,  and  used  his  revolver 


96 


Penalty  and  Redemption 

before  James  could  prevent  it,  or  make  his  way 
from  the  scene.  To  his  dismay  and  horror,  he 
witnessed  the  shooting.  Afterwards,  he  was  ap- 
prehended and  charged  with  murder.  Though 
possessed  of  a  full  knowledge  of  the  facts  he 
would  not  betray  his  pal,  or  furnish  any  informa- 
tion as  to  the  latter's  whereabouts. 

The  outcome  of  this  "honor  among  thieves" 
was  the  conviction  of  James  of  murder  in  the 
second  degree,  and,  straightway,  he  began  a  life 
sentence. 

Principal  Keeper  Fulton,  a  native  of  Napa- 
nock,  N.  Y.,  came  to  Clinton,  not  long  prior  to 
the  expiration  of  my  term  in  the  fall  of  1903.  He 
succeeded  Elijah  Vogan,  who  was  deposed  for 
being  too  lenient  with  the  prisoners.  In  other 
words,  Vogan  was  truly  humane  in  his  treatment 
of  the  men,  some  of  whom,  no  doubt',  took  advan- 
tage of  it.  When  Fulton  came  he  openly  boasted 
of  what  he  would  do  in  the  way  of  maintaining 
discipline.  He  strutted  about  the  Prison  in  a 
lordly  manner.  The  Convicts  said  the  principal 
keeper  was  infected  with  a  microbe  which  they 
facetiously  labelled  "ego."  His  bearing  inter- 
preted anything  but  dignity.  In  short,  he  created 
for  himself  the  dual  characterization  of  "mar- 
tinet" and  "fool."  He  was  hated  and  laughed  at 
in  a  breath.  For  a  slight  infraction  of  a  Prison 
rule  that,  ordinarily,  would  invite  an  addition  of 
three  days  to  the  victim's  term,  he  would  name 
a  penalty,  ranging  from  sixty  to  ninety  days. 


97 


Penalty  ana  Redemption 


And  now  back  to  Peter  James.  He  was  an 
exemplary  prisoner  so  far  as  his  general  con- 
duct was  concerned.  Through  exigencies,  of 
which  he  was  unable  to  obtain  a  clear  under- 
standing, however,  he  fell  under  Fulton's  keenest 
displeasure.  Inasmuch  as  it  was  impossible  to 
lengthen  the  incarceration  of  James,  by  adding 
more  days  for  him  to  serve,  many  other  forms 
of  punishment  were  inflicted  on  him.  Not  in- 
frequently these  were  exceedingly  petty  and, 
in  their  very  nature,  exposed  the  innate  meanness 
of  Fulton.  Several  Convicts  in  the  Tin  shop 
where  James  was  the  engineer,  and  with  whom 
he  was  on  excellent  terms,  also  became  special 
targets  at  which  the  principal  keeper  aimed  his 
battery  of  persecutions. 

The  fact  that  James,  an  innocent  man,  was 
doomed,  in  all  probability,  to  remain  in  Prison 
for  the  remainder  of  his  life,  tended  to  embitter 
him  not  a  little.  This,  plus  his  trials  at  the  hands 
of  the  unprincipled  Fulton,  could  have  no  other, 
natural  effect,  than  to  force  him  into  a  state  of 
desperation.  If  the  two  causes  specified  were 
insufficient  to  produce  this  climax,  then  all  that 
was  needed  to  bring  it  about,  was  Fulton's  harsh 
treatment  of  James'  friends. 

At  any  rate  Fulton's  oppressive  reign  had 
existed  but  a  short  time,  when  James  and  his 
cronies  decided  to  make  a  "break,"  or  rather 
"dig,"  or  perhaps  both,  for  liberty. 

As  engineer  in  the  Tin  shop  he  had  more  or 


98 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


less  freedom  about  it.  Frequently  he  was  obliged 
to  visit  the  cellar  of  the  shop  for  the  purpose 
of  tinkering  with  steam  and  water  pipes  there. 
Three  of  his  pals,  two  of  whom  had  suffered  at 
the  instance  of  Fulton,  were  employed  in  the 
yard,  and  often  stole  away  in  the  cellar  for  a 
half  hour's  rest,  or  to  take  a  few  secret  whiffs 
of  tobacco  from  their  pipes. 

James  decided  that  it  would  be  a  sure  route 
to  liberty,  if  a  tunnel  were  dug  from  the  cellar 
to  the  sewer  that  discharged  in  a  small  river  not 
very  far  from  the  outside  wall  of  the  Prison.  So 
the  quartette  went  to  work,  and  within  two  weeks 
had  scooped  out  a  tunnel  forty-five  feet  long, 
through  which  they  would  be  able  to  reach  the 
sewer. 

All  agreed  that  the  underground  journey  would 
be  extremely  hazardous,  owing  to  the  irregularity 
of  the  "worm  hole,"  as  James  called  it.  In  digging 
it,  rocks  had  to  be  circuited,  and  other  difficulties 
only  partially  surmounted.  Even  at  this  dan- 
gerous stage,  the  outlet  must  do,  for  time  was 
getting  precious,  and  the  chances  of  discovery 
increased  many  fold  each  day.  When  all  was 
in  readiness  they  started,  James  heading  into 
the  bore  first. 

"Big  Fred,"  long  and  beefy,  was  the  fourth  one 
to  angle  his  way  through  the  uncomfortable  exit. 
While  he  was  en  route,  James  and  the  others 
crouched  along  the  river  bank  and  waited.  About 
five  minutes  had  been  the  average  time  for  each 


99 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


of  the  others  to  make  the  trip,  but,  as  near  as 
James  could  reckon,  fifteen  had  passed,  and  "Big 
Fred"  had  not  appeared  at  the  mouth  of  the  tun- 
nel. This  seemed  to  indicate  extreme  danger, 
and  James  said  he  would  do  a  little  scouting  to 
see  what  was  amiss  with  the  big  fellow.  There 
was  "Big  Fred,"  lodged  in  the  tunnel,  ten  feet 
from  its  mouth,  like  a  wad  in  the  bore  of  a  shot- 
gun. James  crawled  in,  and  succeeded  in  draw- 
ing him  out. 

With  their  Prison  uniforms  showing  wrong 
side  out,  and  also  well  smeared  with  earth,  the 
party  separated,  and  made  a  dash  across  the  coun- 
try to  a  railroad  nearby.  The  plan  was  to  keep 
within  seeing  distance  of  this  road,  moving  par- 
allel with  it  toward  New  York  City,  traveling  by 
night,  and  sleeping  in  the  day-time  except  when 
it  was  necessary  to  do  cautious  foraging. 

I  don't  remember  how  long  they  had  been 
gone  when  the  alarm  was  sounded  in  the  Prison, 
and  we  inside,  full  of  mystery,  as  I  have  said, 
were  hustled  in  our  Cells.  The  much-vaunted 
principal  keeper,  Fulton,  was  at  first  thoroughly 
panic-stricken.  Then,  instead  of  being  the  calm, 
forceful  leader,  he  became  the  hot-headed  incom- 
petent his  enimies  said  he  was.  I  would  not  gain- 
say the  assertion  that  his  lack  of  initiative  in  the 
exigency,  was  the  primary  cause  of  an  almost 
unheard-of  activity  at  Albany. 

C.  V.  Collins  was  State  Superintendent  of 
Prisons  then,  and  on  hearing  of  the  quartette's 


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Penalty  and  Redemption 


escape,  put  the  right  kind  of  energy,  backed  by 
brainy  direction,  in  the  search  for  the  fugitives. 
In  the  first  three  days,  two  of  them  were  cap- 
tured, leaving  Peter  James  and  "Big  Fred"  still 
at  liberty.  On  the  night  of  the  fifth  day  "Big 
Fred"  was  brought  in  with  an  ugly  bullet  wound 
in  one  of  his  legs,  but  not  dead,  as  we  had  been 
led  to  believe.  James  was  supported  in  next, 
fagged  out  for  the  want  of  food.  He  had  put 
up  a  desperate  fight,  and  only  surrendered  when 
he  fell  wounded. 

I  gathered  that  Superintendent  Collins  had  a 
soft  spot  in  his  heart  for  a  Convict  in  distress,  and 
so  Principal  Keeper  Fulton  must  have  found  out, 
if  his  wits  were  sharp  enough.  The  superin- 
tendent looked  over  James  and  "Big  Fred"  for  a 
moment,  and  then  said  to  Fulton : 

"In  my  opinion  these  poor  wretches  have  been 
punished  enough!" 

The  superintendent's  opinion  proved  to  be  an 
executive  command,  for  James  and  "Big  Fred" 
received  no  added  penalty  for  trying  to  steal  their 
liberty.  Perhaps  Superintendent  Collins  obtained 
a  lot  of  valuable  information  about  the  manage- 
ment of  Clinton  Prison  on  that  visit,  for  not  long 
afterward,  Principal  Keeper  Fulton  was  removed, 
and  Elijah  Vogan  was  reinstated. 

Not  many  months  later  Fulton  was  seized  with 
a  fatal  illness.  I  have  never  learned  whether  or 
not  he  died  a  Christian,  but  I  sincerely  hope  he 
made  his  peace  with  God ! 


101 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


CHAPTER  IX. 

ALWAYS  TO  ME  THE  "LITTLE  MOTHER/' 

I  saw  the  "Little  Mother"— Mrs.  Maud  Bal- 
lington  Booth — yesterday. 

This  affectionate  term  best  describes  her,  for 
she  is  to  the  infant  in  Christianity  what  the 
mother  is  to  the  lisping  babe,  whose  eyes  have 
opened  for  the  first  time  upon  a  new  and  strange 
habitation. 

The  "Little  Mother"  is  soothing  to  the  troubled 
spirit.  Her  illuminated  presence  communes  in  a 
language  that  is  universal,  and  to  which  the  ears 
of  all  seekers  after  good,  are  perfectly  attuned. 
The  beauty  and  purity  of  her  soul,  are  reflected  in 
her  face,  as  by  a  flawless  mirror.  Before  her  lips 
sound  the  words  that  uplift,  confidence  has  been 
established  in  the  inquiring  one,  never  to  be  found 
wavering.  And  she  is,  and  ever  will  be  to  me, 
nothing  more  or  nothing  less  than  "Little 
Mother !" 

It  was  good  news  forsooth  when  the  announce- 
ment was  made  on  Saturday  that  Mrs.  Booth 
would  be  in  the  chapel  on  Sunday  afternoon,  and 
speak  to  the  prisoners.  I  don't  think  there  was 
a  man  with  strength  enough  to  walk  from  his  Cell 
or  sick  bed  in  the  hospital,  who  was  not  ready, 
and  anxious  to  be  in  the  chapel  at  the  appointed 
hour.  As  for  myself,  I  know  that  no  one  had  a 


102 


PACK  BROS.  PHOTO. 


Mrs.  Maud  Ballington  Booth,  the  "  Little  Mother" 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


keener  desire  to  be  there.  Fortunately,  I  was 
able  to  occupy  a  seat  close  to  the  platform,  where 
I  could  drink  in  the  truths  which  the  "Little 
Mother"  told  in  her  simple  but  rhythmic  words, 
that  flowed  with  the  strength  and  certainty  of  a 
deep,  peacefully  moving  river.  I  would  not 
correctly  interpret  her  words  in  characterizing 
them  a  sermon.  She  just  talked,  and  in  doing  so, 
said  something!  When  she  finished,  the  most 
illiterate  Convict  there  knew  what  had  been  said, 
and  no  questions  need  be  asked. 

"The  life  of  a  criminal  does  n't  pay — it  is  a 
waste  of  precious  time !"  said  the  "Little  Mother," 
and  every  one  of  us  knew  it  was  true,  and,  what 
is  more,  she  told  us  that  common  sense  taught 
her  that  we  had  proved  it  to  our  undoing. 

"Now  the  thing  to  do,  is  to  put  an  end  to  time 
wasting!"  she  went  on,  "and  I  am  here  to  help 
you  do  it,  if  you'll  buckle  in  and  help  yourselves ! 
In  the  first  place  the  Door  of  Hope  is  always  wide 
open  for  any  one  who  will  enter.  Christ  is  the 
Open  Door,  and  I  need  not  repeat  the  old,  old, 
old,  but  welcome  story,  that,  while  the  lamp  of 
hope  burns — and  that  means  while  reason  exists 
in  man — the  vilest  sinner  the  world  possesses, 
may  find  admission  through  it. 

"Some  of  you,  my  dear  boys,  may  be  thinking 
that  these  are  fine  words  of  help-offering  to  such 
sinners  as  have  never  been  in  Prison,  and  have 
not  to  bear  the  stigma  of  "ex-Convict,"  and  all 
that  that  handicap  means,  when  seeking  honest 


103 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


employment.  But  I  say  to  such  a  thinker,  that 
my  message  is  for  you,  and  will  be  to  the  end! 
Therefore,  I  invite  you  to  enter  this  Door  of 
Hope  to  a  better  life,  and  don't  turn  back !  Hav- 
ing once  entered,  I  declare  to  you,  the  worst  man 
here,  that  there  is  no  need  to  retrace  your  steps, 
and,  doubting  one.  I  speak  with  the  authority  of  a 
volunteer  of  the  Volunteers  of  America,  who  are 
enlisted  in  the  service  of  the  Lord,  when  I  say  it. 
You  must  get  out  of  the  rut  in  which  you  are 
now  so  painfully  and  hopelessly  plodding — get 
out  of  the  ways  of  evil,  forsake  your  sins,  and 
trust  Jesus  to  do  the  rest !" 

The  "Little  Mother"  paused  for  an  instant,  and 
then  asked  if  any  one  was  interested  enough  in 
her  words  to  help  himself,  and  if  so  would  such 
an  one  stand  up?  I  was  on  my  feet  without  a 
moment's  hesitation,  and  in  all  parts  of  the  chapel, 
to  the  right,  the  left,  and  the  rear{  I  knew  that 
men  were  signifying  their  willingness  to  seek  the 
better  life  through  the  open  Door  of  Hope. 

"Praise  be  unto  the  Lord,  my  earnest  friends !" 
came  from  Mrs.  Booth  with  a  fervency  that  be- 
tokened her  interest  in  the  souls  of  her  auditors. 
"And  now  will  you  be  seated,"  she  asked,  "while 
I  tell  you  what  to  do?"  When  the  room  was  in 
silence,  she  explained  her  practical  plan  of  salva- 
tion. 

"I  know  that  the  road  of  the  men,  on  leaving 
this,  or  any  other  institution  of  its  kind,  is  hard," 
she  said,  "but  there  is  a  way  to  make  it  less 


104 


Penalty  ana  Redemption 


hard,  if  you  will  only  try,  and  having  tried,  will 
daily  and  hourly  persevere — keep  hewing  to  the 
line!  If  you  will  do  this,  I  will  stand  by  you 
through  thick  and  thin,  foul  weather  or  fair. 
To  begin  with,  I  want  you  to  give  your  hearts  to 
Jesus.  Then  I  want  you  to  promise  me  you  will 
come  to  our  Hope  Hall  at  Flushing,  N.  Y.  I 
mean  that  you  are  requested  to  come  there  directly 
from  this  Prison,  and  remain  with  us  until  such 
a  time  as  you  are  equipped  for  the  fight  that  will 
make  good,  law-abiding  men  and  Christians  of 
you. 

"If  you  will  do  your  part,  I  promise  that  we 
will  do  our  very  best  in  the  name  of  the  blessed 
Saviour,  to  save  your  souls,  and  put  you  in  the 
way  of  earning  an  upright,  honest  livelihood !" 

"But  the  police,  Mrs  Booth."  said  a  little,  bent, 
gray-haired  Convict,  rising  to  his  feet;  "they 
won't  permit  me  to  live  an  honest  life,  particularly 
in  the  city  of  New  York !" 

"In  the  protection  of  Hope  Hall  the  police  will 
not  interfere  with  you,  my  friendly  one,"  said 
Mrs.  Booth.  "I'll  stand  by  you!  All  you  will 
have  to  do,  is  to  hew  to  the  line !  So  long  as  you 
do  that,  I'll  see  that  the  police  don't  molest  you !" 

"I'd  like  to  come  to  the  home,  ma'am,"  said 
the  little  old  man.  "Is  there  room  for  me?  It's 
ten  years  since  I've  been  out  in  the  world !" 

"God  bless  you,  my  brother — yes,  we  have  a 
place  just  cut  out  for  you,  and  none  will  be  more 
welcome,  believe  me." 


105 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


"Thank  you,  thank  you,  ma'am,"  he  said,  in  a 
voice  that  trembled  with  emotion. 

"Bless  this  poor  old  soul,  and  comfort  him,  my 
Saviour,"  prayed  Mrs.  Booth,  as  we  all  bowed 
our  heads.  "Bless  all  these  unfortunate  ones, 
and  make  them  the  good  men  they  may  be,  if  they 
will  only  trust  in  Thee!" 

This  petition  had  scarcely  ascended  from  her 
quivering  lips,  when  she  was  leading  us  in  a 
Gospel  song  pitched  to  a  tune  with  which  many 
of  the  prisoners  seemed  remarkably  familiar.  The 
melody  died  away,  and  then  Mrs.  Booth  closed 
the  service  by  reiterating  her  invitation  to  all  to 
visit  her  Volunteer  Home  immediately  after 
being  discharged  from  Prison. 

Needing  every  aid  in  fighting  the  Christian 
battle,  I  arose  before  the  command  was  given  by 
the  guards  to  form  for  the  march  back  to  the 
Cells.  Mrs.  Booth  saw  me. 

"Speak  out,  my  brother !"  she  said  with  a  glad 
smile  that  gave  me  a  world  of  confidence. 

"I  shall  be  discharged  in  two  months,  and 
would  like  to  be  helped  in  my  effort  to  follow 
Christ,"  I  explained  hesitatingly,  and  consider- 
ably perturbed  too,  for  one  who  had  been  thor- 
oughly self-possessed  in  secular  affairs. 

"I  think  your  good  Chaplain  will  make  it  pos- 
sible for  you  to  speak  with  me  in  the  waiting- 
room,  before  I  leave  Clinton,"  said  Mrs.  Booth  in 
her  kindest  manner.  And  I  did  have  the  ineffable 
delight  of  shaking  the  hand  of  this  charming 


106 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


woman — this  "Little  Mother"  to  the  younglings 
in  the  espousal  of  Christianity. 

She  impressed  me  as  being  one  constantly  hov- 
ering in  an  atmosphere  breathing  forth  pure  sim- 
plicity and  simple  piety.  Her  presence  was  so 
strangely  and  powerfully  magnetic  as  to  draw 
me  irresistibly  toward  her,  yet,  withal,  I  seemed 
not  to  be  in  a  world  identical  with  hers.  There 
was  that  in  her  gracious  personality  which  almost 
interpreted  Divinity,  although,  as  I  have  just  said, 
she  was  only  Mrs.  Maud  Ballington  Booth,  the 
"Little  Mother"  of  the  children  newly  born  into 
the  Kingdom  of  Righteousness. 

"I  shall  feel  that  my  meeting  in  Qinton  has  not 
been  in  vain,"  she  said,  "if  you  can  make  it  con- 
venient to  come  and  see  us  at  our  Flushing  home. 
There  are  at  least  two  dozen  of  the  boys  there 
now,  and  they  are  preparing  for  a  fresh  start  in 
the  world,  along  the  pathway  that  leads  to  the 
better  life,  both  on  earth  and  in  Heaven.  Will 
you  not  come  down  as  soon  as  your  term  ex- 
pires ?" 

"I  have  one  appointment  in  New  York  to 
keep,"  I  explained,  "and  then,  believe  rrie,  I  shall 
come  to  your  retreat — the  Convicts'  haven — and 
try  to  grow  stronger  in  the  honest  life !" 

"Many  good  resolutions  have  been  broken  by 
procrastination!"  Mrs.  Booth  urged,  in  a  tone 
that  fused  with  concern. 

"I  am  goii££  "Mrs.  Booth,  to  see  Mr.  Hadley, 
who  did  more  to  switch  rrie  from  the  broad  road 


107 


Penalty  and.  Redemption 


of  crime,  to  the  narrow  way  that  leads  to  life 
eternal,  than  any  one  else  on  earth!" 

"Mr.  Hadley!"  she  exclaimed,  joyfully;  "you 
mean  Samuel  Hopkins  Hadley,  that  splendid 
Christian  of  the  McAuley  Mission?" 

"None  other,  Mrs.  Booth !"  and  I  related  briefly 
the  story  of  my  conversion,  especially  the  portion 
of  it  which  occurred  in  the  New  York  Police 
Station. 

"Praise  the  Lord,  Mr.  White!"  Mrs.  Booth 
cried  ecstatically,  and  there  was  a  world  of 
thanksgiving  in  her  exclamation.  And  so,  in  the 
grand  personality  of  Mrs.  Booth,  God  raised  up 
for  me  another  mighty  arm  to  guide  me  in  the 
straight  and  narrow  way. 


108 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


CHAPTER  X. 

GOD'S    LIGHT    ATHWART    THE    GLOOM. 

The  beginning  of  my  stay  in  Clinton  bade  fair 
to  be  all  that  had  been  said  of  it,  and  therefore 
I  bent  doggedly  to  the  task  of  accepting  antici- 
pated hardships.  I  was  firmly  resolved  to  pay 
the  penalty  for  my  crimes,  deeming  it  to  be  but 
a  part  of  required  repentance  for  a  life  wasted  in 
the  devil's  employ. 

This  set  purpose  soon  brought  me  great  reward, 
and  more  deeply  intrenched  me  in  the  faith.  In- 
stead of  having  to  bear  burdens  which  I  had 
feared  might  overwhelm  me,  a  new,  unexpected 
and  wholly  undeserved  vista  was  opened  to  me. 
It  was  devoid  of  persecution,  free  from  obstacles 
that  would  make  the  pursuit  of  the  Christian 
pathway  more  difficult,  and  replete  with  oppor- 
tunities to  form  plans  which  I  hoped  to  develop 
at  the  expiration  of  my  term.  It  created  another 
true  friend,  of  whom  I  had  never  heard  or 
dreamed,  and  in  an  astonishing  measure  showed 
me  how  the  Lord  pours  out  blessings  upon  His 
toilers  in  the  vineyard,  who  are  determined  to  be 
faithful  regardless  of  what  threatens. 

This  new  friend  was  Julius  B.  Ransom,  Clin- 
ton's Surgeon.  He  was  an  agreeable  exception  in 
the  ranks  of  Prison  physicians,  both  in  character 
and  intelligence.  Not  only  was  his  standing  in 


109 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


the  profession  unassailable,  but  he  was  also  pos- 
sessed of  large  sympathy  for  his  immediate  fel- 
low-men, though  most  of  these  were  Convicts. 
And,  above  all,  he  was  not  a  grafter!  I  felt,  in 
truth,  that  God  had  directed  me  to  him,  but  in 
what  manner  I  was  never  able  to  find  out.  At  the 
time,  and  since,  I  have  meditated  whether  or  not 
Chaplain  Sanderson  of  Sing  Sing,  being  cogni- 
zant of  my  Christian  fight,  was  not  the  agency 
through  which  God  worked  to  draw  me  to  Dr. 
Ransom. 

At  any  rate,  the  good  doctor  gave  me  excellent 
counsel,  thereby  prescribing  for  my  soul,  as  well 
as  for  my  body.  Recognizing  my  years,  he  said 
I  ought  not  to  do  heavy  work.  He  told  Warden 
George  Deyo  so,  and  I  did  no  very  laborious 
tasks  thereafter.  My  employment  was  truly 
light  and  as  pleasant  as  it  could  be  in  penal 
surroundings.  Altogether,  my  daily  life  was 
much  more  bearable  than  that  of  the  few  inmates 
who  managed  to  escape  the  routine  of  Clinton, 
through  the  payment  of  money,  and  political 
favoritism.  And  let  me  not  fail  to  give  God  the 
praise,  for  to  Him,  Who  raised  up  these  friends, 
I  owe  it  all. 

Dr.  Ransom  assisted  me  royally,  in  various 
ways.  In  Sing  Sing  I  was  unable  to  obtain  sta- 
tionery to  make  memoranda  for  the  proposed 
chronicle  of  my  life.  My  application  for  writing 
paper  elicited  the  unpleasant  rejoinder,  which 
included  a  positive  denial,  "Don't  think  this 


110 


Penalty  ana  Redemption 


Prison  is  a  hotel!"  But  I  had  no  difficulty  in 
procuring  these  needed  materials  at  Clinton.  So, 
not  long  subsequent  to  settling  in  the  new  quar- 
ters, every  available,  leisure  moment,  was  em- 
ployed in  the  preparatory  work  of  my  book.  Un- 
questionably, it  was  no  trivial  undertaking,  and 
frequently  I  was  confused  as  to  what  would  best 
serve  my  purpose. 

Barring  extremely  rare  instances,  perhaps  no 
modern  writer  has  had  more  interesting  adven- 
tures to  weave  into  narrative  than  I.  My  forty 
years  of  experience  in  crime  and  its  varied  envi- 
ronment had  sunk  a  well  of  recollections  well-nigh 
inexhaustible,  and  not  infrequently,  I  was  about 
distraught  over  what  would  best  fit  a  work  de- 
signed to  confer  everlasting  benefit  upon  society. 

A  particular  thing  which  impressed  itself  upon 
me,  had  to  do  with  the  administrative  conditions, 
as  a  whole,  in  the  New  York  State  Prisons.  A 
subdivision  of  this  was  Prison  discipline.  I  be- 
lieved it  to  be  within  bounds  of  reason  for  Con- 
victs to  have  incentives  for  reform.  Also,  I 
realized  that  such  incentives  could  not  exist  unless 
the  administrators  in  charge  of  the  various  penal 
institutions  set  good  examples  before  the  Con- 
victs. 

For  instance,  it  will  not  tend  to  correct  the 
lives  of  criminals  for  them  to  know  that  the  war- 
den in  charge  of  them,  appropriates  from  the 
State's  funds  two  hundred  dollars  a  month  to 
provide  food  for  his  family;  one  hundred  in  the 


111 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


same  period  for  serving  girls,  coachmen  and  foot- 
men, and  maintains,  at  the  State's  expense,  green- 
houses, coach  horses,  cows,  sheep,  and  other  live 
stock,  for  his  sole  use  and  benefit.  Neither  will 
it  win  Convicts  from  their  evil  tendencies,  to 
know  that  the  warden  closes  his  eyes,  while  his 
subordinate  officials  steal  right  and  left,  such  com- 
modities as  clothing,  shoes,  Prison  blanket's,  lum- 
ber, and,  in  fact,  about  everything  that  can  be 
carried  out  of  a  State  institution. 

I  have  certain  knowledge  that  these  conditions 
existed  in  1903,  and  information  of  recent  date 
does  not  disclose  any  marked  improvement.  If 
there  be  doubtful  ones,  I  would  suggest  that 
they  examine  the  monthly  Prison  bills  in  the  office 
of  the  State  Comptroller.  Having  done  this,  I 
would  further  advise  that  a  personal  visit  be  paid 
to  the  Prisons,  especially  Clinton,  and  that  ob- 
servation be  taken  of  the  kind  of  food  served  to 
the  Convicts,  also  an  examination  be  made  of  the 
clothing  and  shoes  they  wear.  Be  certain  not  to 
confine  this  investigation  to  the  Convicts  who 
enjoy  graft-attained  privileges.  They  will  be 
found  sleek,  well-supplied  with  good,  nourishing 
food,  comfortably  clothed,  and  well-shod. 

And,  regarding  brutality!  This  practice  in 
penal  institutions,  does  much  to  harden  criminals 
beyond  all  hope  of  reclamation.  I  have  known 
of  instances  in  which  five  or  six  Convicts  have 
been  strung  up  by  the  thumbs  at  the  same  time, 
for  infractions  of  Prison  rules,  and,  I  declare  in 


112 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


calmness,  and  without  prejudice  it  would  be  sim- 
ply barbarous  in  the  present  human  age. 

Convicts  have  been  flogged  with  clubs,  until 
their  agony  would  wrench  the  heart-strings  of 
the  ordinary  man,  and  kindle  the  fires  of  revenge 
in  the  victims.  The  echoes  of  the  cruel  blows 
have  not  ceased  to  vibrate  in  my  memory ! 

Perhaps  it  would  enlighten  those  interested  in 
this  subject,  to  read  the  report  made  by  an  Inves- 
tigating Committee  which  inquired  into  the  con- 
duct of  Warden  Isaac  Fuller,  and  his  subordi- 
nates, Principal  Keeper  James  Moon,  and  Under 
Keeper  Michael  Haggerty,  all  of  Clinton  Prison. 
Let  me  record  that  the  latter's  death  was  not  soon 
to  be  forgotten  by  those  at  his  bedside.  His 
delirium  assumed  an  awful  panorama  of  victims 
of  his  cruelty  who  marched  before  him  with 
accusing  fingers.  The  torture  he  seemed  to  suf- 
fer, was  appalling!  If  he  had  a  lucid  moment 
in  which  to  realize  an  iota  of  what  was  indicated 
in  his  delirium,  his  suffering  must  have  been  far 
greater  than  that  of  his  victims.  James  Moon  is 
yet  alive,  and  in  comparative  affluence,  on  a  farm 
in  the  Adirondack  Mountains  in  New  York  State. 

It  was  this  character  of  history  I  had  in  mind 
to  write,  believing,  as  I  have  already  made  clear, 
that  society  would  be  the  better  for  it.  But, 
taking  the  matter  under  advisement,  I  decided  to 
defer  it'  to  a  later  day,  substituting  therefor,  the 
facts  related  in  the  covers  of  "  From  Boniface  to 
Bank  Burglar." 


113 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


It  may  not  be  lacking  in  interest  to  mention 
here,  that  I  completed  the  manuscript  of  my  first 
book  under  most  irritating  conditions.  In  some 
manner  what  I  was  doing  became  known,  and 
several  attempts  were  made  by  officials  to  con- 
fiscate the  manuscript.  However,  these  came 
after  I  had  finished  the  work  and  carefully 
secreted  it  outside  of  my  Cell.  I  would  not  have 
felt  justified  in  pursuing  this  course  had  I  not 
been  advised  to  by  certain  sympathetic  friends 
who  were  not  among  the  Convict  population  of 
the  Prison.  Anticipating  difficulty  and  to  avoid 
confiscation  of  the  manuscript,  I  made  painstak- 
ing arrangements  with  an  official  to  pass  it  over 
the  wall  on  the  night  following  my  release  from 
Convict  life. 


114 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


CHAPTER  XL 

SKELLY — JUST    PLAIN    SKELLY. 

"Free  at  last !"  was  the  exhalation  of  my  spirit, 
when  the  great  gate  of  Clinton  swung  to  with 
a  harsh  clang  that  had  no  further  terror  in  it  for 
me. 

Free,  free,  free!  once  more  from  the  restraint 
of  bolts  and  bars,  from  the  badge  of  the  criminal, 
indicated  in  the  horribly  suggestive  Prison  garb, 
and,  thanks  be  to  God,  free  from  the  bondage 
wherein  lay  but  limited  opportunity  for  me  to 
tell  my  fellowman  what  religion  had  done  for  me. 

Free  again  from  an  enforced  exile  of  the  body, 
as  I  felt  I  was  free  forever  from  the  successful 
assaults  of  the  unscrupulous  cohorts  of  sin! 

My  heart,  in  its  bubbling  joy,  sang  a  new  song, 
a  pean  of  praise,  so  wonderfully  attuned  that  all 
nature  rang  for  me  a  new  translation  of  sound. 
This  great  world  I  was  looking  on  again,  was 
one  magnificent  burst  of  inspiring  melody.  My 
time-worn  and  misused  old  eyes  drank  in  with 
ravishing  eagerness,  what  lay  before  them.  I 
thought  there  never  had  been  before  me  so  lovely 
a  world!  The  grass  at  my  feet  possessed  a 
richer  green,  and  the  trees,  nodding  gracefully 
above  me,  were  clothed  in  a  more  elaborate  dress, 
though  the  year  was  fast  fading  into  autumn  and 
the  harvest  time.  The  dullest,  and  least  attrac- 


115 


Penalty  and  Redemption 

tive  object  to  meet  my  gaze,  held  an  interest 
heretofore  unknown  to  me. 

But  there  was  no  secret,  unrevealed  to  me,  in 
all  this.  I  knew  the  reason  for  so  vast  a  change 
in  my  conception  of  things — God  was  in  my  soul, 
divinely  harmonizing  it  with  all  things  good  on 
the  earth!  He  tuned  my  neglected,  unreceptive 
ears,  so  that  they  vibrated  to  melody,  hitherto  far 
too  rich  in  sweetness  of  tone  for  them  to  catch 
and  comprehend.  In  brief,  my  combined  senses 
had  come  to  an  acute  plane  of  responsiveness  to 
Divine  attributes,  and  I  was  enabled  thereby  to 
perceive  the  beauty,  the  righteousness  in  things 
that  had  ever  before  been  an  unopened  page  to 
me. 

As  I  strode  away  from  the  Prison,  I  gloried 
in  the  knowledge  of  a  living  God  Whose  power 
had  been  sufficient  to  save  me  from  a  life  which 
had  long  reflected  the  wickedness  of  hell.  My 
heart  was  buoyant — aye,  jubilant,  in  the  posses- 
sion of  a  freedom  from  desire  to  do  wrong,  and 
enthusiastic  in  God's  plan  of  regeneration,  which 
included  me  in  it.  Yes,  for  even  me,  there  was 
in  prospect  an  eternity  of  peace  and  rest,  if  I 
proved  faithful  to  Him,  and  relied  upon  the 
Divine  Force  which  rules  the  universe  and  every- 
thing contained  therein. 

With  what  elasticity  of  body  I  moved  out  in 
the  goodly  world,  only  those  who  have  trod  in 
similar  footsteps  may  be  competent  to  judge. 
And  as  I  walked  and  contemplated  my  new  posi- 


116 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


tion  in  life,  viewing  it  in  vivid  contrast  with 
other  days,  the  tears  welled  up  in  my  eyes,  and  a 
violent  sob  was  stifled  with  no  small  effort.  But 
they  were  expressive  of  a  contrite  soul,  joyous  in 
the  sweet  assurance  that  vouchsafed  for  me  a 
place  in  the  Community  of  the  Good ! 

I  was  to  be  back  at  the  Prison  early  in  the 
evening  of  the  same  day,  to  get  my  manuscript, 
which  was  to  be  thrown  over  the  wall  by  my 
friend  in  fulfilment  of  his  promise.  Now  the 
manner  of  doing  this,  as  I  have  heretofore  indi- 
cated, was  exceedingly  distasteful  to  me.  I  felt 
that  every  act  in  my  life,  henceforth,  must  be 
done  in  the  open,  and  distinctly  separate  from 
anything  which  approached  even  the  appearance 
of  evil.  But  there  was  no  other  way  to  obtain 
the  manuscript,  therefore  I  believed  that  the 
object  to  be  attained  in  this  case  would  justify 
the  means.  A  comparatively  short  ride  on  a 
railroad  train  put  me  in  Plattsburg,  where  I  re- 
mained until  it  was  time  to  return  to  Dannemora 
in  the  evening. 

The  hour  of  my  appointment  on  the  outside  of 
the  wall  was  10.25  o'clock,  and  as  for  the  night,  it 
was  black — black  enough  for  any  evil  purpose, 
goodness  knows.  When  10.30  came  and  there 
was  no  indication  of  getting  the  manuscript,  I  be- 
gan to  feel  as  though  my  plan  was  lacking  God's 
approval.  But  this  rather  unpleasant  meditation 
was  knocked  out  of  my  mind  the  next  instant,  by 
a  glancing  blow  on  the  left  side  of  my  head,  and  a 


117 


Penalty  ancl  Redemption 


direct  one  on  the  shoulder,  from  which  I  stag- 
gered, and  would  have  fallen,  but  for  the  support 
of  the  Prison  wall,  against  which  I  heavily  rested. 

For  a  moment  I  was  not  only  deprived  of  my 
wits,  but  I  was,  as  well,  not  a  little  frightened, 
believing  that  I  had  been  welted  with  a  heavy 
club.  Upon  pulling  myself  together,  I  could  just 
distinguish  a  white  parcel  lying  at  my  feet.  I  at 
once  knew  it  was  the  precious  manuscript!  I 
picked  it  up,  and,  behold!  a  jagged  stone,  weigh- 
ing not  less  than  ten  pounds,  was  fastened  to  it. 

"Of  a  truth,"  I  thought  cheerfully,  "this  good 
friend  of  mine  concluded  that  my  writings  were 
of  an  exceedingly  vaporous  nature,  else  why  had 
he  thus  carefully  provided  against  their  being 
wafted  away  in  space,  by  some  vagrant  breeze? 
Or,  on  the  contrary,  had  he  justly  recognized  the 
weightiness  of  them,  and,  burning  with  the  in- 
spiration, added  his  mite  to  the  good  work  in  the 
form  of  this  substantial  avoirdupois?" 

If,  perchance,  these  conjectures  were  not  suf- 
ficient, may  he  not  have  arisen  to  the  magnifi- 
cent height  of  testing  the  axiom  that  "Truth 
crushed  shall  rise  again,"  when  he  dropped  the 
weighted  package  on  my  head?  These,  and  other 
equally  happy  thoughts,  thrilled  m<e  to  completion, 
causing  a  momentary  abstraction  from  the  tender- 
ness of  my  flesh,  which  had  been  most  sorely 
bruised  by  the  stone.  But,  seriously,  I  hoped  and 
prayed  that  the  words  I  had  penned  for  the 
guidance  of  men,  deep  in  sin  as  I  once  was, 


118 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


would  awaken  them  to  a  realization  of  their  spir- 
itual needs,  and  with  a  force,  too,  that  would  be 
as  beneficial  to  them,  as  it  was  startling  to  me ! 

Completely  happy,  I  started  on  foot  for  Platts- 
burg,  seventeen  miles  away,  for  walk  there  1 
must,  no  trains  going  that  way  at  so  late  an  hour 
of  the  night.  But  the  journey  was  astonishingly 
short,  and  remarkably  unexacting  upon  my 
strength,  so  marvelous,  in  fact,  is  the  power  of 
mind  over  matter. 

The  next  day  I  was  in  New  York  City,  and, 
happy  thought,  the  following  one  would  witness 
me  once  more  clasping  glad  hands  with  my  be- 
loved Mr.  Hadley. 

And  when  the  meeting  came,  it  was  even  more 
cordial  than  I  had  dared  to  anticipate.  He  sat  in 
the  very  same  chair,  and  I  on  the  identical  sofa 
in  the  office  where  his  burning  words  had  so  sunk 
into  my  soul. 

Somehow,  those  pieces  of  furniture — the  chair 
and  sofa — are  recognized  factors  in  my  conver- 
sion, and  I  fain  would  possess  them,  when  worn 
beyond  usefulness  in  the  parts  they  fill  at  the 
McAuley  Mission.  Strange  indeed  is  the  senti- 
ment that  will  possess  one — one,  for  instance, 
like  me,  whose  deeds  have  been  so  infamous,  and 
so  impossible  of  forgiveness,  except  at  the  hands 
of  Divine  mercy. 

"Trust  not  your  own  strength  for  an  instant!" 
Mr.  Hadley  said  to  me,  as  we  chatted  over  my 
conversion,  and  in  which  connection  I  had  stoutly 


119 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


declared  the  improbability,  nay,  impossibility,  of 
ever  receding  from  the  faith.  "Nevertheless,  my 
dear  fellow,  my  good  comrade  in  Christ,  you  must 
beware  of  your  own  strength,  unsupported  by  His 
great  right  arm.  Take  heed,  dear  brother,  where 
you  stand,  for  the  way  is  set  with  many  snares, 
and  the  devil  and  his  emissaries  are  as  wary  as 
they  are  cunning  and  secret." 

I  told  Mr.  Hadley  of  the  early  appointment  I 
had  to  temporarily  join  Mrs.  Booth's  Flushing 
Colony. 

"By  all  means  go  there,"  he  acquiesced,  "and 
when  it  is  possible,  come  back  here,  for  there 
always  will  be  a  welcome  awaiting  you." 

We  clasped  hands  again  like  brothers  of  the 
same  parents,  it  seemed  to  me — not  as  men  who 
had  once  been  crooks  and  drunkards,  but:  ulti- 
mately saved  by  the  same  blood  sacrifice. 

"Good-bye,  George,  and  may  the  grace  of  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  go  with  you,"  he  said  solemnly. 

"Good-bye,  Mr.  Hadley,"  I  answered  thickly, 
and  hurried  away. 

Two  hours  later  I  was  knocking  at  the  door  of 
Mrs.  Booth's  hospitable  roof,  and  was  agreeably 
surprised  at  the  almost  elegance  of  the  mansion. 
I  learned  subsequently,  that  it  had  been  the  dwell- 
ing of  a  man  possessed  of  great  wealth,  and  had 
come  into  the  keeping  of  Mrs.  Booth  for  the 
purpose  to  which  she  had  dedicated  it. 

A  hasty  glance  swept  in  a  spread  of  gardens 
and  farm  land,  besides  an  acre  or  two  reserved  for 


120 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


lounging  spots  and  cosy  corners  much  needed  by 
the  guests  of  our  "Little  Mother."  Altogether, 
I  was  exceedingly  impressed  with  the  genial  and 
inviting  aspect  of  the  house  and  its  surroundings. 

My  confident  knock  was  answered  by  a  man 
who  appeared  to  be  remarkably  in  unison  with 
these  first  impressions.  Intuitively  he  knew,  in 
a  general  way,  the  quality  and  object  of  his  vis- 
itor, and  in  evidence  of  this,  flung  the  door  wide 
open. 

"Come  in — we  are  glad  to  see  you!"  he  wel- 
comed, putting  me  perfectly  at  ease  by  the  gen- 
uineness of  the  greeting. 

"Your  name  is — "  he  asked  with  a  smile  that 
carried  the  inquiry. 

"George  White!"  I  answered. 

"Not  George  Bliss,  George  Miles,  Mark  Shin- 
burn's  friend?"  he  questioned,  with  increasing 
interest.  I  bowed  in  acknowledgment  of  the 
identification,  feeling  none  too  proud  of  it.  In 
the  interim  we  had  proceeded  to  a  homelike  recep- 
tion room  where  my  new  friend  bade  me  be 
seated. 

"I'm  Skelly— just  plain  Skelly!"  he  explained, 
"but  I  hope  counted  among  the  redeemed  ones 
from  sin!" 

"You,  too,  have  known  what  it  is  to  pay  the 
penalty?"  I  inquired. 

"A  bitter  price  it  was,"  he  cried  with  a  vehe- 
mence that  astounded  me. 

"But  the  blood  of  Jesus  Christ  has  covered  all 


121 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


— is  it  not  so  ?"  I  asked  quickly,  grieved  over  the 
possibility  of  having  awakened  memories  that 
harried  him.  He  grasped  the  tenor  of  my 
thoughts,  and  hastened  to  put  me  at  rest. 

"Don't  be  troubled,  dear  friend,"  this  Skelly— 
just  plain  Skelly — said.  "None  of  the  old  things 
have  power  to  move  me.  I  wish  to  blot  out  the 
past  spent  in  the  devil's  pastime,  but  I  am  not 
affrighted  when  it  rises  up  before  me.  The  dear 
Christ  is  my  great  defender,  and  He  never  fails 
me. 

"But  come  with  me,"  he  exclaimed,  breaking 
into  another  mood,  in  which  there  was  a  mingling 
of  cheer  and  concern.  "You  haven't  had  your 
dinner,  I  know." 

So  this  was  Skelly — just  plain  Skelly.  I  knew 
who  he  was,  and  where  he  came  from,  and  that 
he  was  Mrs.  Booth's  faithful  ally  in  the  conduct 
of  her  haven.  When  she  was  not  present  to 
direct  the  affairs  there,  he  was  in  full  charge, 
never  failing  to  perform  his  part  in  the  Master's 
vineyard.  He  took  me  to  a  bathroom  complete  in 
the  minutest  detail. 

"Refresh  yourself  here!"  he  said,  "and  when 
you  have  finished,  dinner  will  be  served.  "Re- 
member," he  added  before  departing,  "that  this  is 
home  until  you  have  shaken  off  the  atmosphere 
of  Prison,  and  pulled  yourself  together." 

I  had  a  delicious  bath,  and  with  a  sensation 
of  renewed,  physical  being,  went  to  the  dining- 
room  where  I  sat  at  the  table  with  a  group  of 


122 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


men,  who  appeared  to  be  partaking  of  a  new 
phase  of  life.  It  would  be  futile  for  me  to  attempt 
to  express  in  words  the  lasting  benefit  afforded 
these  men  and  me  by  the  whole  administration 
of  Mrs.  Booth's  way-station  on  the  road  to  a 
better  life.  My  spiritual  self  was  encouraged, 
my  physical  being  reinvigorated,  and,  all  in  all, 
the  two  weeks  of  sojourn  there,  proved  to  be 
invaluable  as  a  stepping-stone  in  the  narrow  way 
of  rectitude  in  which  I  was  determined  to  tread, 
regardless  of  how  thickly  it  might  be  set  with 
traps  of  the  enemy. 

Skelly,  who  answered  my  knock  at  the  door 
when  the  visit  began,  was  the  same  kind  Skelly 
who  bade  me  au  revoir  at  the  leave-taking.  He 
seemed  to  be,  in  every  way,  worthy  of  the  confi- 
dence Mrs.  Booth  reposed  in  him.  Owing  to  the 
manifold  duties  of  the  "Little  Mother,"  her  ap- 
pearance at  the  home  was  not  as  frequent  as  her 
guests  hoped  for,  but  she  spoke  through  Skelly. 
He  interpreted  the  language  of  hope  to  the  weary, 
and  sometimes  uncertain  one,  and  in  every  way 
enacted  the  rQle  of  the  good  Samaritan.  He 
possessed  the  brother-love  that  made  all  with 
whom  he  came  in  contact,  feel  that  kinship  so 
essential  to  those  laboring  side  by  side  in  the 
Vineyard  of  the  Lord. 

And  it  must  not  be  gathered  that  Skelly  camte 
in  this  godly  realm  of  usefulness,  as  an  early 
avower  of  Christianity.  Quite  the  reverse!  He 
had  plowed  long  in  the  field  of  sin,  and  sown 


123 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


tares  almost  to  the  choking  of  the  very  best  in 
him.  He  had  known  the  pain  of  being  a  thief, 
suffered  the  stigma  of  occupying  the  felon's  Cell, 
and  experienced  the  joy  of  casting  all  his  sins  on 
the  Lord  to  the  salvation  of  his  soul.  Therefore, 
the  better  was  Skelly  qualified  to  speak  to  fellows 
of  a  kind  of  which  he  was  once  one. 

He  taught  as  one  who  had  acquired  the  knowl- 
edge through  bitter  experience.  The  pitfalls  they 
would  meet  with,  he  knew  of,  for  his  feet  had 
been,  unwarily,  caught  in  them.  The  sorrows 
and  disappointments  which  they  might  encounter, 
he  could  tell  them  of,  because  he  had  been 
afflicted  with  them.  To  know  Skelly  was  to 
draw  inspiration  from  him,  and  as  it  was  my 
blessed  privilege  to  study  him  with  the  fervor 
that  I  delved  into  all  things  appertaining  to  the 
Christian  life,  I  left  the  home  with  the  complete 
knowledge  that  I  had  been  in  the  fellowship  of  a 
wonderful  man. 

No  one  possessed  of  a  spark  of  religion,  or  of 
a  desire  to  lead  an  honest  life,  ever  left  there 
under  Skelly's  ministrations  feeling  that  he  had 
been  denied  good  food  for  his  stomach,  had  been 
asked  to  labor  in  the  harvest  fields  or  the  grounds, 
beyond  what  was  required  to  take  away  the 
sting  of  charity,  or  had  been  deprived  of  the 
spiritual  consolation  that  weak  humanity  so  much 
needs. 

It  was  not  my  privilege  to  often  meet  this  noble 
Christian,  but  his  example  ever  shone  forth  as  a 


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Penalty  and  Redemption 


beacon-light,  by  which  I  have  directed  my  course, 
much  as  the  mariner  keeps  his  ship  off  the 
breakers  by  the  warning  lighthouse  on  the  rock- 
bound  shore. 

Let  it  be  said  again  and  again,  that  Mrs. 
Booth's  Hope  Hall  has  been  well  named.  Hope 
beamed  its  welcome  presence  to  me  every- 
where— in  every  nook  and  corner.  And  it  is  thus 
to-day — the  Convict's  harbor,  his  sure  port  in 
which  to  steer  for  respite  from  the  temptations 
of  life.  No  greater  commendation  of  it  can  be 
said,  than  that  its  usefulness  grew  until  more 
land  and  a  larger  shelter  were  necessary  to  con- 
tinue the  divinely  approved  work.  The  Flushing 
accommodations  rapidly  failed  to  meet  the  de- 
mands, and  it  was  considered  to  be  a  movement 
of  wisdom  when  Hope  Hall  was  transferred  to 
Orangeburgh,  N.  Y.  In  the  later  haven — a  most 
beautiful  garden  spot — Mrs.  Booth's  friends,  the 
lowly  ones,  gather,  even  unto  this  day,  for  en- 
couragement in  the  Christian  warfare.  Once  each 
year  all  the  faithful  gather  at  Hope  Hall  to  com- 
pare notes,  to  tell  what  God  has  done  for  them. 

While  in  Prison  I  had  been  corresponding  with 
officers  of  the  Life-Boat  Mission  of  Chicago, 
among  them  being  its  superintendent,  Mr.  E.  B. 
Van  Dorn,  and  Dr.  David  Paulson,  the  visiting 
physician.  They  had  sent  me  numerous  copies 
of  the  Life-Boat,  an  intensely  interesting  period- 
ical devoted  to  the  furtherance  of  the  Mission's 


125 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


splendid  work  among  the  shipwrecks,  drifting 
along  the  waters  of  Lost  Opportunities,  through 
having  neglected  to  avail  themselves  of  the  Great 
Divine  Pilot,  to  guide  their  barks  safely  in  tem- 
pestuous seas. 

I  found  the  Mission  at  No.  471  State  Street, 
where  I  was  made  very  welcome,  Superintendent 
Van  Dorn  and  Dr.  Paulson  evincing  the  utmost 
interest  in  me.  I  attended  their  meetings  at 
every  opportunity,  took  part  in  them,  and,  in  all 
ways  possible,  endeavored  to  perform  my  duty  as 
a  Christian.  The  work  of  the  Mission  was  con- 
ducted on  much  the  same  plan  as  the  McAuley 
Mission  in  New  York,  and,  naturally,  a  tremen- 
dous amount  of  good  was  accomplished  among 
the  human  wrecks  who  came  under  its  benevo- 
lent influence. 

Upon  leaving  for  the  Eastt  I  was  profoundly 
impressed  that  William  T.  Stead,  the  English 
critic  on  morals,  would  have  dealt  less  harshly 
with  Chicago  had  he  spent  more  of  his  time  at 
the  Life-Boat  Mission.  Certainly  the  character 
of  the  Christian  effort  put  forth  there,  was  such 
as  to  be  felt  in  all  sections  of  the  city.  It  has 
been  truly  said  that  one  is  known  by  his  works, 
and,  surely,  there  was  ample  evidence  of  God's 
blessing  having  been  freely  bestowed  on  the  Life- 
Boat  Mission. 

Directly  after  this,  I  went  to  my  dear  old  Ver- 
mont home.  Somehow  the  news  of  my  conver- 
sion had  preceded  me,  and  I  was  received  by 


126 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


friends  who  had  despaired  of  my  salvation,  with 
a  heartiness  that  was  as  gratifying  as  it  was 
touching.  Of  a  truth,  God  raised  up  more  friends 
for  me,  and  in  a  marvellous  manner  made  my 
effort  to  keep  the  faith  much  less  difficult  than 
it  would  have  otherwise  been. 

My  start  in  the  Christian  pathway  was  made 
without  funds,  so  I  immediately  set  about  to  find 
work.  There  was  precious  little  that  a  man  of  my 
years  could  do,  except  to  work  on  a  farm,  and 
soon  I  was  on  my  hands  and  knees  pulling  weeds 
from  the  fields,  and  doing  other  odd  jobs  wher- 
ever I  could  get  them.  Often  my  stiffened  back 
seemed  unequal  to  the  tasks,  but  I  must  live,  and 
to  do  it,  required  bread  and  meat. 

In  the  meantime  I  was  making  herculean 
efforts  to  get  my  first  book,  "  From  Boniface  to 
Bank  Burglar,"  in  the  hands  of  a  publisher. 
Through  its  agency  I  desired  to  demonstrate  to 
the  world  what  it  was  that  primarily  directed  me 
to  the  commission  of  crime.  And,  too,  I  wanted 
to  counteract,  if  possible,  some  of  the  evil  for 
which  I  was  individually  responsible. 

Very  earnest  was  I,  to  show  the  people  that 
I  had  been  treacherously  robbed  of  all  I  pos- 
sessed in  money  and  lands,  and  in  turn,  in  rob- 
bing others  —  the  rich  —  I  was  but  playing  the 
game  of  high  finance,  by  a  rule  not  so  universally 
recognized  as  the  one  daily  followed  in  the  stock 
gambling  exchanges  of  so-called  civilized  coun- 
tries. Then,  having  done  this,  I  wanted  to  prove 


127 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


to  those  who  had  regarded  me  as  a  menace  to 
society,  that  I  was  no  longer  such,  but  rather, 
was  inclined  to  become  a  benefactor  of  it,  by 
exposing  the  secrets  of  the  burglar-craft,  of 
which  I  had  been  one  of  considerable  notoriety, 
as  recorded  in  the  annals  of  crime  and  criminals. 

Then  through  this  volume,  "  The  Penalty  and 
Redemption,"  a  sequel  to  the  first  book,  I  was  de- 
termined to  manifest  how  awful  were  the  steps  I 
had  taken,  what  price  I  had  paid  for  breaking  the 
Divine  and  secular  laws,  and  how  God,  in  His 
great  mercy,  allowed  His  Holy  Spirit  to  enter  my 
wicked  soul,  when  life's  pendulum  was  about  to 
be  stilled  and  brought  me  up  from  the  cesspool 
of  sin,  into  the  full  realization  of  His  power  to 
forgive,  even  the  vilest  sinner  in  all  the  world ! 

I  must'  not  be  charged  with  egotism  in  saying 
that  I  worked  with  great  diligence  to  accom- 
plish my  purpose,  and  I  did  succeed  to  a  certain 
degree.  My  book,  "  From  Boniface  to  Bank 
Burglar,"  was  issued  in  due  time,  and  found 
quick  sale  in  the  New  England  States.  I  be- 
lieved that  the  work  in  which  I  was  putting  heart 
and  soul  interest,  was  destined  to  prove  to  an 
unbelieving  world  the  infinite  power  and  bound- 
less beneficence  of  God.  But  having  written  the 
first  book  at  a  time  when  my  Christian  experi- 
ence was  in  its  swaddling  clothes,  the  immaturity 
of  my  reasoning  was  palpably  in  evidence.  As  I 
progressed  in  the  spiritual  life,  the  conviction 
settled  upon  me  that  I  had  dwarfed  good  example 


128 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


and  overshadowed  it  in  personal  grievance 
against  man. 

Thanks  be  to  God,  however,  He  opened  my  eyes 
by  increasing  my  spiritual  understanding,  so  that 
I  saw  the  error  of  my  way.  In  the  light  of  this, 
I  saw  how  in  "From  Boniface  to  Bank  Burglar," 
I  had  bitterly  arraigned  man  and  conditions.  The 
spirit  in  which  it  was  treated  had  more  in  it  of  the 
human  hurt  supplemented  by  resentment,  than 
of  the  weak  human  who  had  permitted  himself  to 
commit  a  crime  against  which  he  should  have 
revolted  to  the  extent  of  bearing,  unflinchingly, 
any  punishment,  no  matter  how  severe  or  unmer- 
ited it  might  be. 

Then  and  there  I  resolved  that  "The  Penalty 
and  Redemption"  should  depict  the  more  ad- 
vanced, and  true  state  of  my  regenerate  soul. 
When  I  wrote  "From  Boniface  to  Bank  Burglar" 
I  must  have  been  sadly  deficient  in  respect  to  the 
broad  spirit  of  forgiveness  that  constrained  the 
Saviour  to  say : 

"Father,  forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what 
they  do." 

Instead  of  an  unreserved  complete  forgive- 
ness, there  was  in  me  an  underlying,  positive 
vein  of  keen  resentment.  Though  I  was  hardly 
conscious  of  this,  nevertheless,  it  was  in  my  heart. 
I  had  not  then,  after  all,  arrived  at  that  desirable 
state  where  I  could,  without  an  iota  of  mental 
reservation,  forgive  those  who  had  so  terribly 
persecuted  me.  But  later,  how  wonderfully  God's 


129 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


spirit  operated  in  me.  I  found  myself  able  to  say 
in  "Penalty  and  Redemption :" 

"Herbert  T.  Bellows,  stocks  and  bonds  holder, 
I  freely  forgive  you  as  God  forgave  me. 

"F.  F.  Lane,  District  Attorney,  I  have  no  re- 
sentment for  even  you.  Though  you  placed  me 
in  the  malefactor's  dock,  and  allowed  the  real 
thief  to  go  free,  not  in  the  tiniest  corner  of  my 
heart  can  there  be  found  room  for  aught  but: 
forgiveness  for  you. 

"Judge  Doe,  though  you  connived  with  others 
in  putting  the  last  straw  upon  my  burdened 
shoulders,  and  impelled  me,  in  a  desperate 
moment  of  weak  manhood,  to  plunge  into  sin, 
I  forgive  you,  as  I  have  faith  to  believe  God  has 
forgiven  me,  and  will  continue  to  forgive  me  to 
the  end." 

Thank  God,  all  resentment  has  gone  from  me 
forever.  I  hate  no  man  on  earth,  nor  have  I  the 
faintest  feeling  of  anger  for  the  memory  of  any 
one  who  did  me  evil,  and  has  passed  on  to  the 
final,  great  accounting.  Those  who  have  read 
the  preceding  volume  are  in  a  mood  to  judge 
whether  or  not  a  victory  for  the  faith  was  won, 
in  my  complete  change  of  heart. 


130 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    BANKER    AND   THE    EX-BURGLAR. 

"I  will  be  pleased  to  see  you  at  the  bank  when- 
ever you  find  it  convenient  to  come." 

How  simple  these  words  seem,  in  a  casual 
reading.  A  plain,  kindly  invitation  for  me  to 
call  at  the  Cheshire  National  Bank  of  Keene, 
N.  H.,  at  my  leisure,  and  see  Mr.  R.  H.  Porter, 
its  venerable  vice-president.  But  what  a  world 
of  significance  I  found  in  the  letter  from  which  I 
culled  this  quotation.  I  have  not  regarded  any 
other  experience  of  a  secular  nature  with  so 
much  real  gratification  since  my  conversion. 

The  banker  asked  the  former  burglar  to  come 
and  see  him,  and  I  went,  but  just  what  day  or 
week  it  was,  I  do  not  now  recall.  It  was,  at  all 
events,  after  the  publication  of  my  first  book. 
Mr.  Porter  received  me  with  enthusiasm. 

"My  old  pupil  and  friend!"  he  cried,  "I'm  so 
glad  to  see  you,  and  hear  the  good  news  I" 

He  quite  unnerved  me,  but  I  managed  to  show, 
in  my  quiet  manner,  how  glad  I  was  to  possess 
the  confidence  of  so  stalwart  a  man?  and  first  citi- 
zen of  his  town. 

"Sit  here,  George,"  he  bade  me,  pointing  out 
a  chair  in  his  office,  "for  I  want  to  have  a  good 
long  talk  with  you.  Tell  me  how  you  are  getting 
along." 


131 


Penalty  ana  Redemption 


"Fighting  the  good  fight  of  the  faith,"  I  an- 
swered, "and  doing  my  level  best." 

"Right,  right,  and  it  should  be  so,"  he  ex- 
claimed approvingly. 

"With  God  and  such  friends  as  you  to  help 
me,"  I  replied  feelingly,  "how  can  I  fail  to  be 
victorious  over  sin  and  the  devil,  and  live  down 
the  dreadful  past?" 

"It  is  too  bad  the  world  doesn't  judge  a  person 
by  what  he  is,  and  not  by  what  he  has  been,"  Mr. 
Porter  said  with  a  vehemence  that  filled  me  with 
surprise. 

"You  mean,  Mr.  Porter,"  I  was  moved  to  say, 
in  translation  of  the  thought  his  words  hardly 
expressed,  "that  if  I  were  judged  by  the  life  I 
am  now  trying  to  live,  instead  of  by  the  reputa- 
tion of  outlawry  which  still  clings  to  me,  my 
fighting  in  the  Christian  army  would  not  be  so 
difficult?" 

He  nodded  his  head  approvingly,  after  delib- 
erating a  moment  over  my  abruptness  in  putting 
it. 

"You  present  the  bitter  pellet,  minus  its  sugar 
coating  1"  he  answered,  with  a  smile  that  was  knit 
with  a  serious  mood. 

I  was  unable  afterward  to  clearly  explain  how 
I  became  possessed  of  a  strong  desire  to  resent  the 
fate  that  made  me  what  I  was  that  minute.  It 
was  extremely  out  of  joint  with  my  profession  of 
Christianity,  besides  causing  me  to  waste  time  in 
vain  regrets. 


132 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


Mr.  Porter  detected  my  conflicting  emotions. 

"What  is  it,  my  old  friend?"  he  asked,  in  a 
tone  that  fanned  into  flame  the  mood  which  for 
the  moment  controlled  me. 

"I  wish  I  were  back  again  in  those  old  days !" 
burst  from  me  with  a  ferocity  that  set  my  whole 
body  a-tremble.  "Some  one  has  said,  'Oh  God! 
turn  back  Thy  universe,  and  give  me  yesterday  T 
My  cry  is  that.  Give  me,  my  God !  give  me  yes- 
terday again,  only  let  the  yesterday  represent  the 
innocent  school  days,  when  I  knew  you!  Oh,  if 
God  would  turn  back  my  days,  then  would  I 
unfold  cleaner  pages  in  place  of  those  hideous, 
blotted  ones  I  can  not  rid  myself  of !" 

I  bowed  my  head  in  profound  grief  and 
remorse,  proving  for  the  instant  how  weak,  after 
all,  was  I,  who  had  felt  so  stanch  in  the  faith. 

"There,  there,  my  dear  friend,  my  old  pupil," 
said  Mr.  Porter,  placing  his  hand  tenderly  on  my 
shoulder,  "it  would  be  easier  to  change  the 
leopard's  spots  than  to  destroy  the  indelible  record 
of  the  past !  You  may  hedge  it  in,  yet  it  will  be 
there!  The  only  way  is  to  drive  a  stake  down, 
and  never,  never  return  beyond  it !  Blaze  another 
path  with  the  keen  blade  of  the  Gospel,  and  never 
swerve  from  it.  Anything  else  is  vain  repining." 

"I  was  weak  for  a  moment,  Mr.  Porter,  and  for 
that  little  instant  envious  of  you.  How  proudly 
you  stand  among  men,  your  life  already  crowned 
with  the  glory  of  years  that  are  approaching  their 
flood.  You  stand  honored  of  God  and  man,  while 


133 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


I — well,  I  was  your  pupil,  in  the  little  old  red 
brick  schoolhouse  we  both  remember  so  well.  You 
taught  me  diligently,  and  failed  not  to  tell  me  of 
the  path  of  rectitude  in  which  I  should  travel. 
Time  moved  on,  and  I  grew  to  manhood  and 
commercial  affairs.  Your  talents,  put  to  good 
use,  carried  you  to  the  banking-house.  We  met 
in  business  transactions,  you  the  banker  and  I 
the  commercial  man.  Thousands  of  dollars 
passed  between  us.  We  were  both  successful, 
and  then " 

The  rush  of  emotion  overcame  me  for  a  bit, 
and  I  was  silent,  Mr.  Porter  meanwhile  being 
consumed  with  anxiety.  I  went  on: 

"There  came  a  change  in  one  character  of  the 
life  play.  That  was  not  you — it  was  George 
White.  You  remained  the  banker,  an  honored 
citizen,  while  I  became  the  burglar — the  thief." 
Mr.  Porter  sprang  from  his  seat  and  interrupted 
me. 

"You  shall  not  unnecessarily  scourge  yourself," 
he  cried.  "Don't  use  so  harsh  a  term." 

"Let  me  say  it  ever  so  strongly,"  I  urged,  "I 
feel  it  will  do  me  good.  Perhaps  a  feebler  realiza- 
tion of  God's  mercy  might  make  me  less  humble 
than  I  should  be." 

"You  were  driven  into  crime,  George — most 
cruelly  put  to  it.  Enemies  practically  forced  you 
off  your  own  doorstep,  out  into  the  broad  waste 
of  wrong-doing,"  said  my  friend  soothingly. 

"Don't  try  to  make  my  sins  seem  too  plausible, 


134 


Penalty  ana  Redemption 


Mr.  Porter,"  I  went  on  earnestly.  "For  years  I 
fondly  nursed  that  delusion  in  my  breast,  as  an 
excuse  to  rob  man,  and  break  the  laws  of  God. 
It  was  indeed  a  delusion.  Now,  I  know,  for  my 
heart  tells  me  truly,  that  I  should  have  stood  up 
like  an  everlasting  wall  against  my  persecutors, 
and  put  my  trust  in  Him  to  confound  them,  for 
that  would  have  been  their  fate,  ultimately." 

"As  I  now  contemplate  the  facts  of  your  down- 
fall of  more  than  forty  years  ago,"  broke  in  my 
friend  with  extreme  fervor,  "they  almost  stagger 
my  credulity.  In  the  illumination  of  to-day,  your 
varied  experiences  thrill  me  intensely." 

"They  blackened  my  soul  almost  beyond  re- 
demption," I  supplemented  solemnly. 

"I  think  that  an  almighty  and  just  God  sym- 
pathized with  you,  George — even  when  you  sinned 
against  Him  most.  His  Spirit  must  have  been 
following  you,  no  matter  how  unworthy  you 
were." 

"I  should  have  trusted  him  implicitly  in  all  of 
those  dark  days  of  long  ago,  regardless  of  what 
happened  to  me,"  I  said  simply. 

"Yet  God  did  not  permit  those  who  wronged 
you  to  escape  unpunished,"  said  Mr.  Porter,  with 
considerable  feeling. 

"I  have  forgiven  all  who  conspired  in  any  way 
to  ruin  me,  Mr.  Porter,  as  freely  as  my  Master 
has  forgiven  me.  Thanks  to  His  blessed  name, 
my  heart  responds  truly  to  this  sentiment." 

"The  man  from  whose  persecutions  you  suf- 


135 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


fered  most,  has  gone  his  way,"  said  my  friend, 
with  a  sadness  that  was  infectious. 

"You    mean    Herbert    Bellows?"  I    inquired, 
feeling  that  he  referred  to  him. 

"Yes!  You  probably  know  that  retribution 
came  to  him  ?"  I  nodded  in  the  affirmative. 

"Being  cognizant  of  the  circumstances  through 
which  he  enriched  himself  at  your  expense,"  went 
on  Mr.  Porter,  "yet  I  pitied  him.  He  went  to 
his  grave  in  abject,  pinching  poverty,  and  abso- 
lutely friendless." 

"Yes,  yes,  he  paid  the  penalty,"  I  said,  "but 
I  hope  he  made  his  peace  with  God." 

"Of  that  I  am  not  informed,  though  I  do  know 
he  suffered  untold  misery.  How  else  could  it  be 
with  one  who  had  known  riches  without  stint  ?" 

Having  said  this,  Mr.  Porter  turned  enthusias- 
tically to  the  subject  of  my  book,  "From  Boni- 
face to  Bank  Burglar,"  having  read  a  copy  I 
sent  him. 

"I  can't  thank  you  any  better  for  it,"  he  said, 
"than  by  telling  you  I  picked  it  up  casually,  in- 
tending to  read  it  at  intervals,  but  becoming 
fascinated,  finished  it  in  one  reading." 

"I  hope  my  books  will  serve  a  better  purpose 
that  the  mere  relation  of  facts  of  how  I  got  into 
a  criminal  life,"  I  said  explanatorily,  "for  I  want 
it  known  broadcast,  that  if  there  is  hope  for  one 
so  sinful  as  I  was,  then  how  much  more  of  a 
chance  is  there  for  those  who  have  not  stolen 
from  their  fellow-men." 


136 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


"It  must  be  so,  George,  if  you  are  sincere,  and 
I  have  great  faith  in  you."  My  friend  went  on: 
"I  was  particularly  interested  in  the  chapter  of 
the  Walpole  Savings  Bank  burglary  in  New 
Hampshire.  You  did  well  to  write  about  it.  Now 
I  thought  I  was  very  familiar  with  its  history, 
but  you  have  thrown  much  new  light  on  it.  I 
have  never,  until  now,  understood  the  depth  of 
the  outrageous  wrong  you  suffered,  and  I  don't 
think  it  was  generally  known  to  our  people  here." 

I  thanked  Mr.  Porter  for  his  unsolicited  confi- 
dence, but  made  no  other  comment.  He  went  on : 

"I  congratulate  you  most  cordially  for  aban- 
doning a  life  which  taught  you  so  many  severe  les- 
sons, and  honor  you  for  coming  back  to  the  old 
scenes  of  your  youthful  days,  and  numbering 
yourself  among  the  old  friends  whose  confidence 
and  esteem  you  may  now  justly  claim;." 

I  did  not  attempt  to  apologize  for  the  hot  tears 
that  rushed  to  my  eyes,  filling  them  almost  to 
blindness.  How  thirstily  I  drank  in  the  solacing 
words  of  cheer  and  encouragement,  uttered  by 
this  spiritually-youthful,  aged  man.  He  was  evi- 
dently of  a  set  mind  to  befriend  me,  who  was 
so  sadly  in  need  of  it. 

It  did  not  seem  possible,  at  first,  that  this  man 
of  wealth,  vice-president  in  a  leading  bank  of 
which  he  was  a  substantial  owner,  could  have 
been  at  one  time  my  school  teacher.  He  had 
industriously  employed  the  talents  which  God 
had  given  himi,  while  I — but  he  spoke  again: 


137 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


"I  will  be  pleased  to  see  you  at  the  bank, 
George,  any  time  you  find  it  convenient  to  come." 

"Thank  you,"  I  replied,  in  a  way  that  told  him 
of  my  gratitude. 

"And  I  assure  you,  George,"  said  Mr.  Porter, 
with  a  smile,  "that  I  won't  have  a  detective  trail- 
ing you,  as  has  often  been  the  case  in  other  days 
I  might  mention." 

It  would  have  been  impossible  to  conceal  my 
surprise  had  I  been  of  a  mind  to. 

"I  fear  I  don't  comprehend  you,"  was  my 
ejaculation.  "Detectives  trailing  me?  When?" 

"Unless  I  am  in  error,  you  never  came  in  this 
State  while  in  the  profession  of  a — a " 

"Burglar,  Mr.  Porter — go  on!"  and  I  said  the 
word  for  him — such  was  his  kindness. 

"Well,  then,  I  had  a  watch  put  on  you  for 
the  safety  of  our  bank,  and  that's  a  fact." 

There  was  nothing  for  me  to  say,  and  remain- 
ing silent  my  friend  proceeded. 

''But  not  now,  I  am  happy  to  say.  Rather,  I 
shall,  it  is  more  than  probable,  consult  you  as  to 
the  best  method  of  making  our  bank  safe  from 
fertile  brains  and  covetous  hands." 

It  will  require  little,  if  any,  imagination,  for  one 
to  realize  what  joy  I  experienced,  as  a  result  of 
this  rebinding  of  ties  so  long  severed. 


138 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

SHADOWS   AND   SUNSHINE. 

The  first  sorrow  to  befall  me  after  my  conver- 
sion was  the  death  of  Mr.  Hadley  on  February 
9,  1906,  followed  by  his  funeral,  which  took  place 
from  the  McAuley  Mission  a  few  days  later. 

Words  from  my  pen  must  necessarily  be  inad- 
equate to  express  the  feeling  of  loss  that  possessed 
me.  Mr.  Hadley  was  the  cornerstone,  in  the 
temporal  life,  on  which  I  had  builded.  Next  to 
God,  I  depended  upon  him  for  counsel,  and  he 
never  failed  me.  He  was  my  terrestrial  father, 
as  God  was  and  is  my  spiritual  Father.  Con- 
sidering these  supports  I  do  not  so  much  marvel 
at  times,  why  I  was  able  to  escape  from  the  ball 
and  chain  that  bound  me  in  the  pit  of  sin. 

Far  be  it  from  me  to  think  of  writing  a 
eulogy  on  Mr.  Hadley.  Better  that  that  should 
come  from  those  who  knew  him  longer  than  I. 
Not  least  among  these  was  Rev.  Dr.  J.  Wesley 
Johnston  of  the  Old  John  Street  Methodist  Epis- 
copal Church,  in  New  York. 

In  commending  Mr.  Hadley's  book,  whose  title 
page  bears  the  name  of  "Down  in  Water  Street," 
Dr.  Johnston  said,  when  Mr.  Hadley  was  yet 
alive : 

"A  book  written  by  the  superintendent  of  the 
Jerry  McAuley  Mission  in  Water  Street  needs 


139 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


no  introduction  from  me,  for  the  fame  of  this 
Mission  is  world-wide,  and  its  honored  and  suc- 
cessful superintendent  is  known  to  all  Christian 
people.  .  .  .  May  God  bless  this  book.  And 
may  he  bless  its  writer,  and  spare  him  for  many 
years  to  the  work  he  is  conducting  with  such 
success." 

Rev.  J.  Wilbur  Chapman,  D.D.,  of  the  Fourth 
Presbyterian  Church  of  New  York,  attended  the 
funeral,  and  delivered  a  beautiful  personal  tribute 
to  the  memory  of  his  dead  friend.  In  this  con- 
nection I  should  state  that  Dr.  Chapman's  eulogy 
was  the  more  appropriate,  since  Mr.  Hadley  had 
requested  that  the  doctor  speak  at  his  obsequies. 

"If  you  survive  me,  doctor,"  Mr.  Hadley  had 
said  many  months  before  his  death,  "speak  at  my 
funeral  of  the  blessed  Jesus,  and  His  great  power 
to  save  from  sin." 

Dr.  Chapman  often  choked  with  emotion  as  he 
talked  with  heart  knowledge  of  his  dear,  departed 
friend.  Seldom  has  such  pathos  fallen  from 
human  lips. 

"If  I  speak  briefly  to-day,"  said  the  doctor,  "it 
must  be  remembered  that  I  am  speaking  out  of 
a  full  heart,  and  if  my  utterances  seem  broken, 
then  please  do  not  forget  that  my  emotion  is 
almost  beyond  my  control.  It  is  as  if  one  had 
been  called  to  stand  beside  the  casket  of  his  own 
brother,  and  yet  he  was  more  to  me  than  brother ; 
or,  it  is  as  if  one  were  standing  beside  the  casket 
of  a  member  of  his  own  household,  for  I  think  I 


140 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


could  almost  say  that  my  affection  for  S.  H.  Had- 
ley  was  as  deep  and  tender  as  for  those  who  are 
my  own  flesh  and  blood,  and  I  say  the  truth 
when  I  declare  that  I  had  rather  be  S.  H.  Hadley 
lying  dead  in  his  coffin,  having  stirred  these  gra- 
cious memories  in  the  minds  of  so  many  of  us, 
and  having  changed  so  many  lives  for  good,  than 
to  be  what  the  world  would  call  New  York's  most 
famous  citizen.  .  .  .  His  going  away  has  left 
us  desolate — the  world  actually  seems  a  lonesome 
place  to  live.  New  York  seems  to  me  to  have 
lost  something — as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  best  of 
it  has  gone  away,  and  I  can  never  again  think 
of  the  city  as  being  what  it  has  been  in  the  past, 
when  S.  H.  Hadley  lived  and  loved  and  worked 
here  in  the  spirit  of  Jesus.  .  .  .  He  preached 
a  great  salvation.  No  one  was  too  far  away  from 
God  for  Him,  no  life  was  ever  too  low  in  his 
estimation  for  salvation,  and  no  one  was  ever  too 
hopeless  for  him  not  to  make  an  effort  to  lead 
him  or  her  to  Christ.  He  had  an  uttermost  salva- 
tion for  every  wandering  sinner." 

Powerful  words,  these  last.  But  for  the  sen- 
timent in  them,  I  might  still  be  a  wanderer  in  sin, 
for  I  was  indeed  a  striking  example  of  the  effi- 
cacy of  an  "uttermost  salvation."  And  so  my 
friend  passed  on  to  his  reward,  leaving  a  vacancy 
in  my  life  that  was  difficult  to  fill — but  God  doth 
watch  over  the  sparrows,  the  Divine  truth 
emphasizes,  and  as  they  were  not  too  inconse- 
quential for  his  notice,  so  was  not  I,  in  the  loss 


141 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


of  my  earthly  counsellor.  He  raised  up  for  me 
another  staff  upon  which  to  lean  when  I  grew 
faint  by  the  wayside,  in  the  person  of  John  H. 
Wyburn,  who,  for  several  years  was  the  assistant 
superintendent  of  the  Jerry  McAuley  Mission, 
and  succeeded  Mr.  Hadley  as  its  superintendent. 

As  the  Mission  had  thrived  under  the  guidance 
of  Mr.  Hadley,  so  it  continued  to  prosper,  as  a 
natural  response  to  the  able  direction  of  Mr. 
Wyburn,  who  proved  himself  to  be  a  worthy 
disciple  to  wear  the  mantle  descended  from  his 
predecessor.  Of  a  truth,  Mr.  Wyburn  has  since 
shown  himself  to  be  well  deserving  of  the  praise 
given  him  by  thousands  of  loyal  workers  in  the 
Vineyard  of  the  Lord. 

As  a  co-laborer  in  the  Mission  with  Mr. 
Hadley,  Mr.  Wyburn  was  thoroughly  beloved. 
Those  who  came  to  intimately  know  and  love 
Mr.  Hadley,  remarked  upon  the  brotherly  love 
that  existed  between  them.  Perhaps  no  better 
illustration  of  it  may  be  had,  than  the  appended 
extract  from  a  letter  which  Mr.  Hadley  wrote  to 
Mr.  Wyburn  on  the  occasion  of  the  latter's  cele- 
bration of  the  sixteenth  anniversary  of  his  con- 
version : 

"I  have  known  you  probably  closer  than  any 
man  living  since  the  hour  of  your  conversion.  I 
have  learned  to  love  you  more  and  deeper  each 
day  of  our  journey  together ;  your  spotless,  beau- 
tiful, Christian  life,  tender  love  for  the  lost  and 
erring,  your  candid,  manly  friendship,  make  you 


142 


John  H.  Wyburn,  Superintendent  of  the  McAuley  Mission 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


a  peerless  missionary,  and  have  endeared  you  to 
thousands  all  over  this  globe.  I  have  never 
enjoyed  any  one's  company,  as  a  co-worker  in 
this  great  fight  for  souls,  as  I  have  yours.  Your 
love  and  sympathy  have  cheered  me  on,  when, 
sometimes,  I  have  thought  that  heart  and  flesh 
would  fail.  In  all  these  years  we  have  never  had 
a  word  or  look  of  difference. 

"You  are  the  best  loved  man  of  us  all.  God 
bless  you!  God  bless  your  precious  wife  and 
child,  and  may  we  at  last  meet  in  that  bright  land 
above,  where  sin  can  never  cause  any  more  tears 
or  sorrow,  and  we  can  forever  dwell  with  those 
we  have  wept  and  prayed  over  down  here." 

It  was  with  no  small  degree  of  satisfaction  that 
I  was  privileged  to  obtain  from  Mr.  Wyburn  the 
narrative  of  his  conversion,  told  in  his  own  simple, 
forceful  language: 

"I  was  sent  with  a  letter  of  introduction  to  Mr. 
S.  H.  Hadley,  of  No.  316  Water  Street,  on  the 
25th  day  of  September,  1888,  by  one  of  the  con- 
verts of  the  Mission,  who  did  not  say  anything  to 
me  about  the  fact  of  Mr.  Hadley  being  the  super- 
intendent of  the  McAuley  Mission,  but  simply 
said,  'This  is  a  friend  of  mine — he  will  help  you/ 
On  the  way  down  to  the  Mission  I  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  I  would  strike  him  for  ten 
dollars. 

"Fortunately  for  me  he  was  not  at  home,  but  1 
retained  the  letter,  and  went  out  looking  for  more 
whiskey.  I  was  unsuccessful  in  getting  much 


143 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


money  that  afternoon,  and  I  believe  God  was  in 
it,  for  it  had  been  easy  for  me  to  get  five  or  ten 
dollars  a  day.  I  had  done  an  extensive  business 
in  New  York  and  Brooklyn,  and  had  lots  of 
friends. 

"I  hunted  all  the  afternoon  for  a  man  who 
had  been  one  of  my  foremen  for  many  years,  and 
finally  found  him.  But  he  had  just  paid  out 
all  of  his  ready  money  for  a  new  oven,  he  having 
recently  started  in  the  bakery  business.  He 
could  only  give  me  a  quarter  of  a  dollar.  With 
that  I  bought  my  last  drink,  crossed  the  bridge, 
and  came  to  the  McAuley  Mission. 

"It  has  always  puzzled  me  to  know  how  I 
found  it,  for  I  knew  nothing  of  the  neighborhood. 
My  best  belief  is  that  God  was  leading  me.  Any- 
how I  woke  up,  as  it  were,  to  find  myself  seated 
in  the  Mission,  still  holding  on  to  the  letter.  Even 
then,  I  didn't  have  the  slightest  idea  of  what  I 
would  encounter. 

"It  was  my  very  first  experience  of  the  kind. 
I  immediately  became  interested  in  the  man 
sitting  next  to  me — a  red-headed  Irishman  who 
wanted  to  get  a  place  to  sleep.  I  told  him  I 
would  give  him  the  price,  and  he  did  get  a  bed 
that  night.  Though  I  have  never  seen  him  since, 
I  have  always  prayed  for  him. 

"Some  one  told  Mr.  Hadley  that  I  wanted  to 
see  him,  and  he  came  to  the  seat  where  I  was.  I 
handed  him  the  letter.  After  reading  it  he  said, 
'Well,  what  can  I  do  for  you?'  I  told  him  I 


144 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


wanted  to  get  sobered  up  so  I  could  go  back  about 
my  business,  and  he  said : 

"  'Is  that  all  you  want  ?'  I  thought,  'If  you  only 
knew  how  impossible  it  is  for  me  to  keep  sober, 
you  wouldn't  speak  so  lightly  about  it.' 

"But  in  a  moment  he  said,  his  face  beaming 
with  light  and  love: 

"  'What  you  need,  my  dear  brother,  is  Jesus 
Christ  as  your  friend  and  Saviour.  He  will 
sober  you  up,  and  you  will  never  want  another 
drink.' 

"I  accepted  his  pressing  invitation  to  stay  to 
the  meeting,  and  what  a  wonderful  meeting  it 
was!  The  hymns  that  were  sung  took  me  back 
to  the  days  of  childhood.  Every  man  seemed  to 
be  saying  to  me,  through  his  testimony,  "There's 
hope  for  you — Jesus  will  save  you!'  And  when 
the  man  who  sent  me  to  the  Mission  stood  up, 
and  said  he  was  saved,  I  immediately  got  up  and 
said,  'I  want  some  of  that!'  And  that  very 
moment  the  great  transaction  was  done. 

"  'All  the  fitness  He  requireth,  is  to  feel  your 
need  of  Him.' 

"Yes,  Mr.  Hadley  did  know  what  I  needed, 
for  God  forgave  my  sins,  my  rebellion,  and  made 
me  a  new  man  in  Christ  Jesus. 

"I  went  to  the  penitent  form  at  the  close  of  the 
meeting,  the  devil  following  me  every  step  of 
the  way.  When  I  got  down  on  my  knees  to  pray, 
he  very  vividly  brought  to  my  mind  the  old  life 
of  unbelief,  and  said,  'What's  the  use  of  your 


145 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


praying — you  don't  believe  in  prayer  anyhow?' 
I  got  up  and  down,  and  up  and  down  several 
times.  Finally  the  victory  was  won — sweet  de- 
liverance came — victory  through  the  might  and 
power  of  the  precious  blood  of  Jesus,  and  from 
that  very  moment  I  believed  that  I  would  never 
take  another  drink  of  whiskey.  Every  drop  of 
blood  in  my  veins  had  been  crying  out  for  it,  but 
Jesus  had  taken  me  at  my  word,  the  very  moment 
I  said,  'I  will !'  With  Jesus  in  my  heart,  the  old 
life  passed  away. 

"There  were  times,  however,  when  I  suffered 
the  tortures  of  the  damned,  and  it  seemed  as  if  all 
of  the  demons  of  hell  were  tugging  at  my  life, 
and  sleep  was  impossible  all  night  long,  but 
through  it  all  Jesus  was  with  me.  I  would  have 
given  any  part  of  my  body,  if  I  could  have  gotten 
entirely  rid  of  the  appetite,  but  Jesus  and  He 
alone  saved  me  from  it. 

"It  was  the  most  strenuous  fight  I  ever  had — 
the  devil  was  after  my  life.  'But  he  had  me  once 
and  let  me  go,  and  he  can't  have  me  any  more.' 
And  from  that  very  moment  I  have  been  a  free 
man.  Oh!  the  luxury  of  freedom'!  With  Jesus 
in  my  heart  and  life,  how  sweet  it  is  to  live. 

"I  have  been,  from  that  night,  holding  out  the 
life  line  to  lost,  dying  drunkards  in  this  dear  old 
Mission!  For  three  years  I  had  the  privilege  of 
being  superintendent  of  the  Bowery  Mission,  and 
God  wonderfully  used  my  feeble  efforts.  All 
over  this  land  are  men  who  have  been  redeemed 


146 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


through  the  simple  testimony  which  God  has 
given  me  to  tell — the  story  of  His  matchless  grace 
to  save  and  keep  a  sinner  like  me. 

"Long  ago  I  gave  my  life  to  this  work.  It  is 
true  I  have  been  tempted  to  give  it  up,  and,  yield- 
ing once,  left  the  Bowery  Mission,  which  I 
deeply  regretted.  But  God  called  me  back,  and  I 
have  never  wanted  to  run  away  again.  I  want 
to  give  my  life  as  did  my  beloved  brother — who, 
a  few  months  ago,  went  to  his  reward — for  the 
salvation  of  the  drunkards  of  this  land,  and  point 
them  to  the  only  One  who  can  help  them — Jesus, 
the  precious  Son  of  God." 

Such  was  the  man  whom  God  had  put  in  my 
way,  that  the  fight  for  eternal  righteousness 
which  I  was  waging,  might  be  won  at  last.  Is  it 
strange  that  I  was  thankful,  and  vowed  with  all 
the  sincerity  of  a  redeemed  soul  to  press  on? 
Nor  was  my  assistance  of  the  temporal  sort 
limited  to  Mr.  Wyburn.  As  the  days  merged 
into  weeks  and  months,  I  discovered  others  ex- 
tending anxious  hands  to  help  me  over  slippery 
places,  and  whisper  encouragement. 

Rev.  Dr.  Johnston,  of  Old  John  Street  M.  E. 
Church,  whose  friendship  for  Mr.  Hadley  has 
been  briefly  referred  to,  heard  of  me  and  my 
unfortunate  life  in  crime,  and  recent  emancipa- 
tion. He,  too,  extended  the  unsheathed  hand  of 
friendship,  and  bade  me  welcome  to  his  fold. 
Aye,  it  was  the  right  hand  of  fellowship  he  gave 
me,  and  it  had  blood  in  it,  fresh  from  a  heart 

147 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


burning  with  compassion  and  a  yearning  to  help 
me.  And  when  he  said,  "Come  with  us!"  I 
responded,  my  heart  bounding  with  renewed 
hope,  and  I  was  proud  that  my  name  would  be 
recorded  on  the  membership  roll  of  Old  John 
Street  Church. 

In  and  out  of  season.  Dr.  Johnston  labored 
earnestly  to  render  my  Christian  endeavor  rich 
with  the  fulness  of  a  great  reward. 

Through  his  instrumentality  other  Christian 
influences  came  into  my  life.  From  all  sides, 
from  the  ranks  of  the  poor,  and  the  circles  of 
wealth,  I  received  a  royal  welcome  to  the  society 
of  churchly  companionship. 

The  McAuley  Mission,  too,  bore  me  many 
friends  of  high  and  low  degree,  in  the  reckoning 
of  worldly  possessions,  but  all  equally  exalted  in 
the  fellowship  royal  of  Christ,  the  Master. 

Among  these  was  Joseph  J.  Rafter,  the  re- 
deemed drunkard-printer,  of  Springfield,  Mass. 
His  case  appealed  to  me  with  a  personal  interest 
that  was  entirely  natural.  Joseph  Rafter  had 
been  on  the  border  of  utter  ruin,  as  the  price  of 
indulgence  in  rum,  and  it  had  been  my  bitter, 
relentless  enemy,  too,  for  the  better  part  of  a 
lifetime.  He  had  been  saved  from  its  curse 
through  the  grace  of  God  and  the  interposition 
of  friends.  I,  too,  had  been  able  to  cut  loose  from 
the  terrible  appetite,  and  when  I  first  knew  him, 
was  fighting  the  demon  with  a  determination  to 
win  by  the  aid  of  that  same  merciful  Power. 


148 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


Who  on  earth  was  able  to  give  me  better  coun- 
sel in  such  a  warfare  than  he — Joseph  Rafter? 
He  had  been  pursued  by  the  -enemy  until  friends 
appeared  and  pointed  out  to  him  the  highway 
leading  to  emancipation.  The  still,  small  Voice 
had  spoken,  and  he  had  heard  it.  When  I  con- 
fessed to  him  of  encounters  with  this  common 
enemy,  and  exhibited  the  scars,  we  counselled 
together,  and  joined  forces  for  the  purpose  of 
waging  continual  war  on  the  camp  of  this  soul- 
destroyer. 

I  discover  myself  without  capacity  to  meet 
the  happy  effort  of  penning  words  powerful 
enough  to  express  my  admiration  for  this  new 
friend,  who  proved  himself  to  be  a  wonderful 
example  of  splendid  manhood.  Therefore  I 
turn  to  sources  better  qualified  to  sing  the  de- 
served praise  of  this  my  esteemed  friend  Joseph 
Rafter. 

In  commenting  on  him,  Superintendent 
Wyburn,  of  the  Mission,  has  said : 

"I  wish  you  could  have  seen  Brother  Joe 
Rafter  when  he  first  came  to  our  Mission.  He 
looked  to  be  fully  twenty  years  older,  the  most 
unhappy,  wretched  specimen  of  the  devil's  work 
I  think  I  have  ever  seen.  He  is  now  one  of  our 
leading  Converts — tender,  loving,  and  true  always 
ready  to  help  in  any  way,  wonderfully  earnest 
in  seeking  after  the  salvation  of  others,  loving 
everybody  and  beloved  by  every  one." 

What  a  New  England  editor  thought  of  Mr. 


149 


Penalty  ana  Redemption 


Rafter  and  his  conversion,  may  be  gathered  from 
the  following,  which  was  published  on  September 
26,  1906,  in  the  New  England  Homestead: 

"  'A  master  of  his  craft — when  he  let  the  drink 
alone.' 

"That  was  a  common  expression  among  the 
acquaintances  of  Joseph  J.  Rafter  when  he  was 
in  business  in  Springfield,  about  fifteen  years  ago, 
and  it  was  about  as  near  the  mark  as  could  be  hit. 
Joe  Rafter  was  considered  the  ablest  printer  in 
this  end  of  Massachusetts,  and,  as  the  head  of 
the  Rafter-Ripley  Company,  successors  to  the  old 
established  business  of  Weaver,  Shipman  and 
Company — where  he  served  his  apprenticeship 
in  the  building  now  occupied  by  the  Board  of 
Trade — he  drifted  away  from  here  and  was 
heard  of  occasionally  in  distant  places,  until 
he  dropped  entirely  out  of  sight.  This  week,  recol- 
lections of  Joe  Rafter  were  revived  by  the  receipt 
of  the  following  unique  invitation  from  John  H. 
Wyburn,  superintendent  of  the  McAuley  Mis- 
sion, of  New  York : 

DEAR  FRIEND:  You  are  cordially  in- 
vited to  be  present  and  assist  in  the 
celebration  of  the  first  anniversary  of 
the  conversion  of  our  beloved  Brother 
Joseph  J.  Rafter,  which  will  be  held  at 
the  Old  Jerry  McAuley  Water  Street 
Mission,  No.  316  Water  Street  New 
York  City,  Tuesday  evening,  October  9, 


150 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


1906,  at  7.30  o'clock.  Your  presence 
will  be  especially  welcome,  to  rejoice 
with  him  for  God's  mercy  and  loving- 
kindness  in  saving  and  keeping  him 
from  a  wretched,  drunken,  sinful  life, 
by  His  wonderful  love  and  power  alone, 
raising  him  up  from  the  very  jaws  of 
death.  Praise  His  precious  Name! 
He  and  He  alone  can  save. 

"Joe  Rafter,  who  spent  all  of  his  early  life  in 
Springfield,  was  a  protege  of  the  late  Ben  Wea- 
ver, and  was  one  of  the  chief  factors  in  giving 
the  Weaver,  Shipman  &  Company  printing  shop 
its  reputation  for  fine  work.  His  fame  for 
artistic  composition  was  widespread,  and  when  the 
late  Curtis  B.  Wells  went  out  of  the  firm,  he 
took  Joe  with  him,  and  the  Wells-Rafter  Print- 
ing Company  was  established  on  Main  Street 
opposite  Haynes'  Hotel.  J.  Eveleth  Griffith,  now 
of  Boston,  was  a  member  of  this  firm.  Joe  soon 
sought  other  fields  to  conquer,  and  worked  in 
responsible  capacities  with  some  of  the  largest 
printing  firms  in  the  country. 

"Finally  he  landed  in  Hartford,  Conn.,  and  as 
superintendent  of  R.  S.  Peck  and  Company, 
brought  that  firm  to  a  high  standing.  Joe  knew 
all  the  tricks  of  estimating  and  saving  press  work 
and  other  expenses  on  book  and  catalogue  print- 
ing in  ways  unfamiliar  to  the  average  printer, 
and  one  of  his  chief  delights  was  to  have  big 


151 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


contracts  follow  him  about  the  country  in  what- 
ever big  printing  plants  he  located.  He  was  with 
the  Hartford  firm  for  a  dozen  years,  in  the  late 
nineties,  and  early  in  this  century,  then  left  on 
one  of  his  leaving-spells  to  go  with  the  Griffith, 
Axtell  and  Cady  Company,  of  Holyoke,  for  a 
year.  Yet  after  that  R.  S.  Peck  and  Company 
called  him  back  again. 

"Joe  Rafter's  only  failing  was  an  irresistible 
breaking  away  for  a  periodical  jag.  He  would 
stay  sober  for  months,  often  not  drinking  a  drop, 
then  suddenly  disappear  for  a  two  or  three  weeks' 
'time.'  It  was  at  the  end  of  these  sprees  that 
he  usually  changed  his  employer,  though  often 
against  his  employer's  wishes,  for  it  was  a 
peculiar  fact  in  Rafter's  career  that  his  employer 
was  usually  ready  to  overlook  his  one  failing, 
even  though  he  left  the  shop  in  the  lurch,  for  his 
value  to  the  office  when  he  was  all  right.  Mr. 
Peck  took  him  back  half  a  score  of  times  during 
his  Hartford  career,  and  in  one  of  Rafter's  con- 
tracts for  a  year  with  a  big  printing  concern — 
one  that  knew  his  failing,  too — he  had  inserted  a 
clause  that  permitted  him  a  periodical  absence 
from  duty,  as  he  might  see  fit,  without  breaking 
the  contract. 

"His  restless  disposition  finally  carried  him 
away  from  Hartford,  and  Springfield  has  not 
heard  much  from  him,  till  this  latest  ebullition 
and  invitation  to  see  him  as  a  redeemed  man, 
which  was  mailed  to  a  few  friends  here.  The 


152 


Penalty  ana  Redemption 


invitation  is  artistically  printed,  and  evidently 
done  by  Rafter  himself.  He  was  married  and  his 
wife  and  he  seem  to  stick  together  through  all 
his  roamings  and  vicissitudinous  life.  While  in 
Springfield,  Rafter  was  for  over  five  years  a 
member  of  the  local  militia,  and  of  the  Masonic 
fraternity,  and  Knights  of  Pythias,  Benevolent 
and  Protective  Order  of  Elks,  and  Red  Men,  and 
the  most  widely  known  printer  in  the  town." 

I  have  read  with  unabated  interest  Mr.  Rafter's 
own  account  of  his  sudden  change  from  an  exist- 
ence steeped  in  sin  and  rum.  It  told  me  in  no 
uncertain  words  what  manner  of  man  he  was 
under  the  destructive  rule  of  the  devil,  and 
showed  me,  in  glorious  contrast,  his  subsequent 
life,  filled  with  the  joys  of  a  clear  conscience 
through  sin  abandoned,  and  a  justifiable  pride  in 
the  complete  triumph  of  manhood  over  an  appe- 
tite debauched. 

With  Mr.  Rafter's  permission  I  have  appended 
this  manly  confession,  that  it  may  obtain  wide- 
spread attention,  and,  perhaps,  stand  out  as  an 
object  lesson  to  some  poor,  misguided,  hopeless 
wayfarer : 

"I  thank  God  for  salvation.  I  am  a  redeemed 
drunkard.  A  newspaper  extract  printed  in  an- 
other part  of  this  narrative  tells  of  my  downward 
career.  During  those  years  I  had  the  advantage 
of  all  cures  administered  in  sanitariums  and  hos- 
pitals. Released  from  the  New  Haven  Hospital, 
where  my  wife  had  committed  me,  I  immedi- 


153 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


ately  came  to  New  York.  Having  no  money,  I 
soon  began  to  sell  my  clothes,  panhandle  and 
borrow  money,  to  satisfy  a  craving  for  drink. 

"And  now  follows  the  story  of  my  rescue  : 

"It  was  on  October  8,  1905,  on  Sunday  morn- 
ing, at  6.30  o'clock,  after  walking  the  streets 
nearly  all  night,  as  I  had  often  done  before,  catch- 
ing a  little  sleep  here  and  there  on  doorsteps  and 
trucks,  wandering  around  tired,  hungry  and 
hopeless,  almost  insane  and  almost  frozen  from 
exposure.  I  thought  I  could  get  a  little  sleep  or 
rest  in  a  saloon  where  I  had  spent  most  of  the 
days  and  nights  of  seven  weeks.  Here  had  gath- 
ered, as  usual,  from  twenty  to  twenty-five  men,  of 
all  classes  and  conditions,  and  who  had  spent  the 
whole  night  there,  most  of  them  in  a  drunken 
stupor.  Many  of  these  men  had  been  my  com- 
panions for  seven  weeks. 

"I  had  hardly  reached  the  inside  door  of  the 
saloon,  before  I  was  told  to  get  out,  the  pro- 
prietor saying  I  was  a  disgrace  to  the  place,  and 
that  he  did  not  want  me  there  any  more.  I 
thank  God  for  that  crucial  moment.  Turning 
right-about-face,  I  took  an  inventory  of  myself. 

"  'If  I  am  a  disgrace  to  this  place,'  I  said,  '\ 
surely  am  of  no  use  to  myself,  my  friends,  or 
my  family,  and  I  had  better  put'  an  end  to  it  all/ 
It  was  with  this  idea  of  self-destruction  in  mind, 
that  I  wandered  down  to  South  Street  near  the 
East  River.  I  then  realized  where  I  was,  and, 
sitting  down,  wept  like  a  child.  God  must  have 


154 


Underwood  &f  Underwood 

The  Meeting  Room  where  Mr.  Rafter  was  converted — He  is  seen   sitting 
at  the  left  of   Supt.  Wyburn,  who  stands  behind  the  desk 


Penalty  ana  Redemption 


been  with  me,  for  as  soon  as  I  got  near  the  edge 
of  the  pier,  a  watchman  ordered  me  off,  saying  I 
had  no  right  there,  and  that  I  had  better  go 
home,  that  if  the  boss  found  me  there  he  would 
lose  his  job.  Then  I  certainly  did  think  I  had 
no  friends. 

"An  impulse  seized  me,  and,  turning,  I  re- 
traced my  steps  up  Roosevelt  Street,  where  I 
happened  to  notice  the  transparency  of  the  McAu- 
ley  Mission.  I  was  dirty !  My  clothes  did  not  fit, 
being  relievers.  My  shoes  were  tied  on  with 
cords.  My  shirt  and  suspenders  had  gone  for 
rum.  Not  knowing  anything  about  Missions,  I 
therefore  thought  that  I  would  not  be  received 
there.  I  sat  down  on  the  platform  opposite  the 
Mission,  remaining  there  a  large  part  of  the  day 
looking  at  the  door  wonderingly. 

"About  three  o'clock  I  noticed  a  large  crowd 
going  in,  and  it  was  at  this  time  a  poor  boy 
came  to  me  and  said,  'Old  man,  you  look  tired 
out.'  He  slipped  a  nickel  in  my  hand  and  told 
me  to  get  something  to  eat  or  drink,  at  the  same 
time  urging  me  to  go  in  the  Mission.  I  did  buy 
a  drink,  but  I  did  not  have  the  nerve  to  enter 
the  Mission  that  night.  I  walked  the  streets  the 
same  as  the  night  before.  I  slept  part  of  that 
night  on  a  Franklin  Square  truck  where  I  had  so 
often  before  got  rest.  It  was  cold  there,  and  I 
moved  to  the  steps  of  the  New  York  Press  on 
Spruce  Street.  It  was  there  that  a  fireman  came 
to  me  from  the  sub-cellar  and  gave  me  a  sand- 


155 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


wich,  saying  that  it  would  do  me  good — I  thank 
God  for  kindness — God  had  taken  me  over  to 
Himself. 

"Monday  I  wandered  into  City  Hall  Park,  but 
fearing  arrest,  went  down  to  South  Street  again, 
where  I  thought  I  could  walk  about  and  forget 
where  I  was.  That  night — October  pth — I  en- 
tered the  doors  of  the  dear  old  Mission,  where 
I  was  cordially  received,  and  given  a  seat  in  the 
rear  of  the  hall.  I  listened  to  the  testimonies, 
and  I  said  to  myself,  'These  men  are  telling  my 
own  life  story.'  There  were  twenty-five  or 
thirty  testimonies  given.  I  wondered  if  it  were 
true  that  God  could  save  a  man  in  my  condition. 
When  the  invitation  was  given  to  go  forward,  I 
did  so,  and  got  down  on  my  knees  and  prayed 
for  the  first  time  in  twenty  years.  I  asked  God 
to  save  me,  if  it  was  not  too  late — and  oh !  how  I 
thank  Him  for  that  moment. 

"When  I  arose  from  my  knees,  the  heavy  load 
was  gone.  I  had  been  born  again  in  a  twinkling. 
I  became  a  new  man  in  Christ  Jesus,  and  from 
that  instant  I  have  not  wanted  a  drink  of  liquor. 
I  found  my  Saviour,  and  immediately  Christian 
friends  gave  me  the  assurance  that  all  would 
be  well,  and  that  God  would  carry  me  through  if 
I  meant  business.  These  dear  friends  cleaned 
me  up,  gave  me  clothing,  and  assisted  me  in 
securing  work.  I  entered  the  employ  of  my  good 
friend  Louis  A.  Lehmaier's  printing  house  as 
a  compositor,  and  in  four  months  was  made  su- 


156 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


perintendent  of  the  plant,  and  am  now  treasurer 
of  the  company  which  published  this  book.  I 
am  also  connected  with  other  large  business  in- 
terests. God  has  helped  me  marvellously  in  giving 
me  opportunities  to  improve  myself.  Let  it  be 
known  to  all,  that  through  the  power  of  prayer 
I  am  a  redeemed  drunkard.  The  blood  of  Jesus 
Christ  did  it.  Oh,  I've  been  wonderfully  blessed 
in  many  ways.  God  has  given  me  back  my  wife, 
home,  other  dear  ones  and  a  host  of  friends.  He 
has  vouchsafed  me  a  standing  among  good  men, 
and  to-day  I  enjoy  everything  that  a  man  should 
desire.  He  has  taught  me  how  to  live  a  Christian 
life.  God  has  done  it  all." 

Such  were  the  friends  that  rallied  around  me, 
and  they  made  the  bearing  of  the  cross  as  light 
as  it  might  be.  A  great,  hardly  realizable  change 
came  over  me.  Once  I  walked  certain  New  York 
streets — above  or  below  the  "dead  line" — with  a 
sense  of  freedom  that  could  be  bought  from  a 

Police  Force  which  had  no  aversion  to  tainted 
money.  Yet  that  freedom  was  not  entirely  sep- 
arate from  concern.  There  was  always  the  un- 
certainty to  be  reckoned  with.  Arrest  was  not 
an  impossibility. 

Under  the  new  order  of  my  life,  I  was  able 
to  have  the  freedom  of  the  whole  city — all  of  the 
streets  were  mine.  The  "dead  line"  was  no 
longer  a  thing  to  be  considered  by  me,  regardless 
of  how  much  a  Nemesis  it  had  been  in  some 
periods  of  my  life.  For,  I  had  become  a  free 


157 


Penalty  ana  Redemption 


man  in  Christ,  and  the  streets  were  free  to  me 
in  the  brightest  hour  of  the  day,  or  the  blackest 
hour  of  the  night.  There  was  none  to  molest, 
none  to  disturb  me.  I  had  paid  the  "price" — 
God's  "price" — with  the  gain  all  on  my  side,  so 
wonderful  is  his  mercy  and  loving-kindness.  The 
gift  of  my  wicked  heart  was  all,  everything  He 
required  of  me.  Such  was  the  plan  of  His  glo- 
rious salvation,  such  was  the  "price"  I  had  paid, 
and  such  was  the  degree  of  His  boundless  com- 
passion. 

For  the  "price"  he  asked  me  to  pay  there 
were  privileges  multiplied  to  me  beyond  all 
human  conception  and  computation. 

I  learned  to  dearly  love  the  Mission  work  and 
the  noble  corps  of  men  and  women  who  labored 
to  rescue  the  lost,  arid  who  placed  the  value  of 
a  soul  far  beyond  the  cost  of  selfish  world  inter- 
ests. I  came  to  look  upon  the  soul  of  the  human 
shipwreck  on  the  shores  of  time  as  a  priceless 
gem  that  would  eventually  find  its  setting  in 
the  crown  of  glory  of  my  Master,  if  I  faithfully 
performed  my  duty  as  a  servant  in  Christianity. 

'Whereas  I  once,  in  worldliness,  schemed  to 
take  riches  from  the  rich  by  stealth,  I  learned  to 
scheme  in  the  sunlight  of  my  Master's  approba- 
tion for  the  salvation  of  men's  souls,  that  they 
might,  with  me,  escape  from  eternal  damnation. 

With  a  thousandfold  greater  fervency  than  I 
possessed  in  the  service  of  the  god  of  Mammon,  I 
labored  to  make  myself  an  influence  for  good. 


158 


Underwood  Sf  Underwood 

A  Christmas  scene  in  the  McAuley  Mission,  No.  316  Water  Street 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


In  the  McAuley  Mission  I  did  not  deny  the 
sinfulness  that  recorded  against  me  almost  a 
lifetime  spent  as  an  enemy  of  God.  In  Old  John 
Street  Church,  the  church  of  my  membership, 
where  I  came  in  contact  with  Christians  in  all 
walks  and  conditions  of  life,  I  endeavored  to  live 
what  I  was — a  great,  notorious  sinner,  who  had 
been  saved  from  an  awful  fate  of  his  own  crea- 
tion. 

Both  in  the  Church  and  the  Mission,  I  found 
the  peace  which  my  hitherto  barren  life  craved, 
the  solace  for  which  my  increasing  years  yearned, 
as  a  thirsty  soil  would  drink  in  the  warmth  of  a 
torrid  summer's  first  rain.  In  the  Mission  I 
came  in  contact  with  all  kinds  of  people  from 
every  country  and  every  clime.  Indeed,  it  was 
not  an  uncommon  occurrence  to  have  several 
different  countries  represented  at  a  Mission  meet- 
ing, and  often  the  millionaire  and  millionairess 
touched  elbows  with  a  poor  fallen  Christ-seeking 
man  or  woman  of  the  lowest  stratum  of  human 
existence — each  one  on  his  or  her  knees,  humbly 
uttering  the  same  universal  prayer,  "Lord,  be 
merciful  to  me,  a  sinner,  for  Jesus'  sake." 

When  the  final  trumpet  shall  proclaim  to  all 
the  hosts  of  ten  thousand  worlds  that  the  Judg- 
ment Day  has  come,  and  each  one  of  the  vast 
untold  millions  of  the  faithful  shall  stand  in 
immaculate  robes  before  the  White  Throne,  to 
hear  the  commendation  of  the  Infinite  One,  "Well 
done,  good  and  faithful  servant,"  I  doubt  not 


159 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


that  the  simple,  earnest  soul  who  unselfishly 
labored  in  the  Water  Street  Mission,  to  uplift 
from  the  slums  the  wallowing  drunkard  and  the 
polluted  woman  outcast,  will  receive  a  crown  of 
glory,  whose  gems  shall  reflect  the  splendors  of 
the  sun  of  the  day,  and  the  soft  brilliance  of  the 
stars  of  the  night,  while  the  angels  and  the 
redeemed  ones  sing  in  a  mighty,  swelling  chorus 
to  the  harmony  of  countless  harps  and  timbrels, 
the  song  of  the  triumph  of  righteousness,  resur- 
rection and  eternal  life,  over  vanquished  sin, 
death,  and  oblivion  in  the  grave. 


160 


Penalty  ana  Redemption 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    PENALTY. 

When  man  violates  the  laws  of  nature  he  incurs 
a  debt  that  must  be  paid.  The  greater  the  viola- 
tion, the  greater  the  payment — its  fulness  being 
the  premature  grave — usually. 

Transgress  the  laws  of  God  and  remain  unre- 
pentant until  the  race  of  life  is  finished,  and  the 
penalty  is  the  eternal  loss  of  the  soul.  These  debts 
must  and  shall  be  paid.  This  is  as  certain  and 
irrevocable  as  it  is  true  that  God  exists,  and  will 
mercifully  exchange  pardon  for  repentance,  even 
unto  the  eleventh  hour. 

Of  repentance,  thanks  be  to  His  name,  I  can 
speak  as  one  with  authority.  Of  pardon  I  am 
informed,  for  I  have  the  unmistakable  joyous 
assurance  of  it.  I  possess  an  abiding  conscious- 
ness of  a  full  pardon  that  is  incontestable.  It 
was  acquired  through  the  unerring  language  of 
the  Omnipotent  to  the  understanding  soul. 

How  my  heart  thrills  with  the  joy  of  that 
understanding.  And,  again,  how  it  is  affrighted 
at  times,  with  the  knowledge  of  a  miraculous 
escape  from  the  guilt  of  the  unpardonable  sin — 
a  repentance  almost  beyond  the  pale  of  pardon. 
And  then  the  fear  vanishes,  while  a  still,  small 
voice  whispers  encouragingly : 

"Fear  not,  for  I  will  be  with  thee  always." 


161 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


But  in  this  blessed  security  I  have  often  medi- 
tated over  the  fate  of  those  with  whom  I  asso- 
ciated in  my  criminal  career.  Most  of  them,  alas, 
are  dead,  having  passed  out  of  this  life,  so  I 
have  been  informed,  without  having  made  their 
peace  with  God.  A  few  of  them  yet  live,  and  my 
daily  prayer  has  been  and  will  be  while  there  is 
yet  hope,  that  these  may  realize  the  error  of  their 
ways,  and  hear  the  voice  of  pardon,  ere  it  be  too 
late. 

As  I  dwell  in  the  realm  of  retrospection,  the 
forms  of  these  men  who  figured  so  tragically  in 
my  life  pass  along,  one  after  another.  My  heart 
grows  heavy  as  I  view  the  parade  of  human  souls, 
surrounding  whom  there  is  so  much  uncertainty 
as  to  their  standing  in  eternity.  Some  of  them 
showed  me  no  brotherly  love,  while  others  drifted 
along  in  the  same  zone  of  wickedness  with  me. 
In  regard  to  these  latter,  there  is  no  doubt  that 
I  failed  in  my  duty  to  them,  and  because  of  it 
I  shall  ever  be  filled  with  the  deepest  regret.  Oh, 
that  I  had  heard  and  heeded  God's  call  sooner, 
that  I  might  have  repented  of  my  sins,  and  in 
consequence  have  been  of  more  use  in  the  world. 

Herbert  T.  Bellows  presents  the  most  sorrow- 
ful picture  of  the  regrettable  past  that  looms  up 
vividly  before  me.  I  have  told  much  of  him  in 
"From  Boniface  to  Bank  Burglar."  If  it  be  pos- 
sible for  me  to  stand  at  the  bar  of  God  with  him, 
I  shall  be  glad.  The  news  I  want  to  hear  is,  that 
he  died  a  true  Christian,  even  as  I  now  hope  to 


162 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


do.  It  will  be  glad  tidings  of  great  joy,  for 
which  my  heart  will  sing  amen  and  amen.  But 
if  he  is  unsaved  even  at  so  tardy  a  day,  I  will 
plead  in  the  name  of  Jesus  that  none  of  the  evil 
he  wrought  in  my  life  be  charged  against  him 
beyond  forgiveness.  Though  Herbert  Bellows 
did  strike  a  blow  that  changed  the  whole  tenor  of 
my  early  life,  there  is  no  hardness  in  my  heart 
for  him.  And  though  I  was  driven  into  the 
shadowy  road  of  crime  as  the  result  of  his  perse- 
cutions together  with  my  own  weakness  to  which 
I  humbly  confess,  my  heart  throbs  with  sorrow 
for  him. 

It  shall  not  be  charged  by  me  that  Herbert  Bel- 
lows was  punished  on  earth  for  his  sins.  Of  that 
no  man  should  set  himself  up  as  a  judge.  But  it 
is  a  fact  that  he  was,  in  his  lifetime,  possessed 
of  many  friends,  integrity,  large  wealth,  of  great 
political  power,  and  at  his  death  was  hopelessly 
friendless,  irretrievably  discredited,  in  grinding 
poverty,  and  wholly  abandoned  by  all  men.  His 
very  last  hours  were  passed  in  a  dismal  room, 
cold  for  the  want  of  fuel,  and  dark  because  there 
were  no  pennies  in  the  family  purse  to  buy  oil. 
In  bare  truth,  he  filled  a  pauper's  grave. 

When  the  Judgment  Day  shall  have  come,  and 
we  are  all  arraigned  before  the  Great  Judge,  I 
yearn  to  be  near  Herbert  Bellows  and  whisper  in 
his  ear,  "Herbert,  you  did  not  realize  what  you 
were  doing  in  those  days.  Can  you  forgive  me 
for  the  bitterness  I  harbored  for  you?  God  has 


163 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


cancelled  that  note  of  sin  for  me,  and  satisfied  the 
judgment  thereof." 

Next  in  the  procession  before  me,  I  can  see 
F.  F.  Lane.  He  was  the  District  Attorney  of 
Cheshire  County,  New  Hampshire,  and  prose- 
cuted the  indictment  that  blasted  my  young  life. 
Lane  was  Herbert  Bellows'  friend,  and  did  his 
bidding  to  the  utmost.  I  am  wondering  what 
excuse  F.  F.  Lane  will  offer  on  the  Judgment 
Day  for  the  part  he  took  in  the  transaction  that 
involved  the  fair  name  of  my  noble  father  and 
loving  mother,  and  brought  dishonor  upon  their 
son.  What  will  he  say  when  the  indictment 
"Hypocrite"  is  read  from  the  Recording  Angel's 
book  of  dark  recollections?  Will  he  plead  in  the 
fulness  of  a  contrite,  regenerate  soul,  "Lord, 
Thou  knowest  I  posed  in  Thy  Church  before  the 
people  on  earth  as  a  proud,  upright  man  of  God, 
and  set  a  goodly  example  in  the  eyes  of  my 
fellow-men,  even  while  I  was,  in  secret,  abetting 
infamy,  prosecuting  and  persecuting  innocence, 
and  accepting  bribes  from  polluted  hands,  and 
yet,  Thou,  God,  didst  forgive  me  wholly  in  the 
hour  of  true  repentance  for  it  all,  glory  be  to  Thy 
name." 

Aye,  in  the  last  day,  the  crack  of  doom,  such  a 
plea  from  F.  F.  Lane,  the  lawyer  of  Keene,  New 
Hampshire,  will  fill  my  heart  with  thanksgiving, 
for  the  horror  of  an  eternity  of  torment  in  one's 
soul  can  only  be  understood  by  the  Omnipotent 
conception.  If  I  found  it  difficult  to  forgive  F.  F. 


164 


§ 


N 


o 

3 


5 
<7> 


TJ 

-S      s 


3 

- 


Facsimile  of  the  Pardon  granted  to  Mr.  White  by  Theodore  Roosevelt, 
as  Governor  of  New  York  State 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


Lane,  I  would  question  the  validity  of  my  peace 
with  God.  No,  no,  no !  I  have  diligently  searched 
my  heart  and  in  it  there  is  no  resentment,  and  I 
do  forgive  him  fully  and  freely,  as  it  behooves 
me  to  do,  who  knows  what  it  is  to  have  a  sinful 
life  washed  clean  by  the  blood  of  Jesus  Christ. 

In  penning  "From  Boniface  to  Bank  Burglar" 
I  demonstrated  what  the  life  of  a  law  breaker  is, 
veneered  with  allurements.  There  was  put  for- 
ward the  brightest  side  of  a  man's  life  given 
over  t'o  crime.  One  having  read  the  various 
chapters  of  veracious  and  vivid  experiences,  be- 
comes unconsciously  sympathetic.  At  the  outset 
my  readers  grasped  the  awfulness  of  the  wrongs 
I  suffered,  and  I  won  their  profound  pity.  And 
then  they  marvelled  not  in  the  least,  when  re- 
venge stormed  my  heart  and  bitterness  filled  my 
soul. 

When  I  escaped  from  persecutions,  these  same 
sympathetic  and  unmarvelling  ones  lifted  their 
heads  high  with  broad  approval.  Free  from 
durance,  penniless  in  a  great  city,  and  in  danger 
of  betrayal  back  into  the  clutches  of  the  enemy,' 
these  friendly  followers  of  my  unfortunate  career 
gasped  in  dismay  when  I  robbed  the  first  bank 
under  their  very  eyes,  and  regained  in  booty 
an  amount  more  than  equal  to  all  I  had  been 
defrauded  of.  Shocked  that  I  had  become  a 
thief,  yet  they  condoned  the  crime,  and  forgave 
the  criminal,  knowing  the  magnitude  of  his 
wrongs. 


165 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


Following  me,  faithfully,  they  fathomed  my 
new  motive.  Having  regained  my  stolen  fortune, 
the  new  motive  was  to  steal  from  the  rich,  who 
could  afford  to  lose,  and  never  to  exact  from  the 
poor  what  must  further  impoverish  them.  In 
this  I  gained  more  sympathy  from  the  observers 
of  my  fortunes.  And,  as  I  rapidly  progressed  in 
the  highway  of  crime,  which  grew  broader  and 
broader  as  my  experience  lengthened  and  cor- 
respondingly multiplied  my  golden  returns,  these 
sympathizers,  presently,  came  to  be  admirers  of 
my  skill. 

When  my  carefully  prepared  schemes,  involv- 
ing months  of  labor  and  small  fortunes  to  com- 
plete them,  failed  to  net  me  millions,  their  regrets 
were  as  poignant  as  mine.  When  I  corrupted 
young  bank  clerks  and  watchmen  of  banks,  as 
tools  in  looting  vaults  and  safes,  and  gained  hun- 
dreds of  thousands,  these  same  admirers  gloated 
with  me,  and  applauded  my  genius  as  a  burglar. 
If,  again,  I  adroitly  escaped  the  penalty  for  a 
crime  by  evading  the  officers  of  the  law,  or  bribed 
the  police,  these  friends,  in  their  gladness,  un- 
consciously lost  sight  of  the  crime,  and  glorified 
the  skill  of  the  one  who  could  vanquish  the  law. 
When  justice  triumphed  in  my  capture,  and  my 
penalty  fated  me  to  a  Prison-Cell,  these  perusers 
of  my  chronicle  were  as  gloomy  and  disconsolate 
as  I,  under  restraint,  cursed  the  fate  that  cut  me 
off,  temporarily,  from  the  pursuit  of  conquest  and 
pelf. 


166 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


And  so  I  was  able  to  control  the  minds  of  these 
readers  to  the  end  of  the  final  chapter,  mindful 
the  while  of  the  dual  objects  to  be  attained.  One 
was  the  seeking  of  a  means  to  justify  my  plunge 
into  crime,  the  other  the  weaving  of  a  frail 
fabric  of  criminal  achievement,  with  all  of  the 
superficial  allurements  possible,  that  it's  ultimate 
rending  might  disclose  to  the  reader  the  hellish- 
ness  it  secreted,  and  the  penalty  that  must,  inev- 
itably, be  paid  by  the  adherent  of  crime. 

The  former  object,  I  did  attain,  but  in  such  a 
degree  that  I  have  repented  of  it.  The  bitterness 
of  my  soul,  as  it  pondered  over  the  wrongs  of 
earlier  days,  expanded  beyond  the  bounds  of 
Christian  forbearance,  and  in  attaining  that 
object,  the  good  was  overshadowed  by  the  ag- 
grandizement of  self. 

My  failure,  in  this  regard,  was  so  signal  that 
I  humbly  petitioned  God  to  use  it  as  an  instru- 
ment for  good,  poor,  weak  thing  that  it  was. 

But,  in  vivifying  the  allurements  of  the  bur- 
glar-craft, I  feel  that  I  have  been  unusually  suc- 
cessful. I  have  glorified  crime,  and  the  criminal — 
may  it  demonstrate  ever  so  forcefully  how  hellish 
is  crime,  and  how  tremendous  is  the  descending 
crash  of  the  criminal.  For  "The  way  of  the  trans- 
gressor is  hard,"  and  "The  wages  of  sin  is  death." 

Sin  is  death  to  all  that  is  good  here  on  earth, 
and  if  unrepented  of,  a  living  death  in  eternity. 
It  robs  the  body  and  ruins  the  life,  sets  a-tremble 
the  stoutest  heart,  and  besets  the  soul  with  an 


167 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


ever  present,  aching  fear  of  an  unknown,  unde- 
fined something  that  haunt's  man  with  the  per- 
sistence of  his  shadow. 

I  have  blazoned  my  career  of  crime,  and  may 
the  penalty  I  paid  be  the  more  surely  grasped 
and  profited  by.  What  my  transgressions  netted 
me  is  only  an  example  of  the  profit  that  must 
come  to  all  transgressors  of  whatever  degree. 

Again,  I  must  not  be  accused  of  judging  the 
acts  of  my  fellow-men  as  individuals,  nor  of 
saying  that  what  befell  them  on  earth  is  a  just 
penalty.  That  is,  as  I  have  already  tried  to 
explain,  a  prerogative  of  Divinity.  In  relating 
what  befell  men  more  or  less  associated  with  me 
in  the  past,  I  but  state  facts.  If  these  facts  be- 
speak a  penalty,  then  let  God  be  the  judge.  It 
is  for  us  to  recognize  the  truth,  and  direct  our 
lives  accordingly.  I  do  repeat,  in  the  light  of 
wide  experience,  and  in  all  solemnity,  that  "The 
way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard,"  and  should 
be  avoided. 

As  I  look  over  the  procession  of  evil  men  who 
figured  in  my  life,  it  is  to  compile  a  long  list  of 
lamentable  failures,  climaxed  by  death,  in  which 
example  seemed  to  justify  the  Scriptural  teach- 
ing, that  it  does  not  profit  a  man,  if  he  gain  the 
whole  world,  and  in  the  end  lose  his  immortal 
soul. 

I  have  in  mind  my  old  associate  Mark  Shin- 
burn,  or  Baron  Schoenbirn,  as  the  police  records 
have  described  him.  Through  his  unconscious 


168 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


aid  I  was  involved  in  crime,  as  my  preceding 
book  relates.  That  was  more  than  forty  years 
ago.  He  escaped  at  the  time  from  a  ten-year 
term  in  the  Concord  State  Prison  of  New  Hamp- 
shire. To-day,  after  many  intervening  years,  he 
is  in  a  Cell  at  Concord  paying  the  penalty  of  a 
crime  committed  in  1864. 

As  I  write,  he  is  an  unrepentant,  tottering, 
friendless  old  man  on  the  verge  of  the  grave, 
threatening  to  beat  out  his  brains  on  the  bars  or 
walls  of  his  Cell.  May  God  reach  his  hard 
heart  before  it  is  too  late. 

Shinburn  was  a  multi-millionaire  when  wd 
dissolved  our  partnership  in  crime  in  1869.  He 
went  to  Frankfort-on-the-Main  in  Germany,  and 
bought  a  large  estate,  and  the  title  of  Baron.  But 
he  lost  the  fortune  gained  in  crime,  and,  return- 
ing to  the  old  life,  became  involved  with  the  law, 
resulting  in  his  recapture  and  incarceration  in  his 
declining  years. 

James  Cummings,  who  was  associated  with 
him  in  that  early  crime,  died  years  later  in  pov- 
erty and  unregretted. 

William  Meagher,  or  Billy  Matthews,  as  he  is 
known  in  my  book,  who  was  a  friend  of  Shin- 
burn's,  and  later  of  myself,  accumulated  consider- 
able money  as  a  gambler  and  accomplice  of 
thieves.  He,  too,  lost  all,  and  when  old  age  was 
pressing  hard,  descended  to  the  bookmaker's  stall 
at  racing  paddocks,  for  a  precarious  existence. 
Health  failing  him,  he  was  sent  to  Hot  Springs, 


169 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


Arkansas,  by  his  gambler  friends.  Death  claimed 
him  in  the  early  part  of  1906.  These  same  gam- 
bler friends  stood  between  him  and  a  numbered 
grave  on  Hart's  Island,  the  Potter's  Field  of  N.  Y. 

No  less  sad  and  impressive  was  the  early  de- 
parture of  others  I  knew  through  long  personal 
acquaintanceship.  Jim  Burns,  who,  with  "The 
Congressman,"  stole  $20,000  from  the  Treasury 
Department  at  Washington,  D.  C,  became  piti- 
fully poor,  and  in  great  despondency  in  Paris 
ended  his  life  with  a  bullet.  "The  Congressman," 
though  never  arrested  for  his  participation  in  the 
crime,  was  avoided  by  all  good  men,  and  died  in 
poverty. 

Jim  Griffin,  the  famous  bank  sneak,  who 
figured  in  one  of  my  biggest  robberies,  died  in 
destitution  while  a  prisoner  in  a  Police  Station 
at  Newark,  New  Jersey. 

George  Wilkes,  who  was  a  king  among  for- 
gers, a  living  exponent  of  the  theory  of  "honor 
among  thieves,"  squandered  fortunes,  and  filled 
a  grave  provided  by  charity. 

"Tall  Jim"  was  one  of  my  closest  associates  in 
crime.  He  is  yet  alive  and  was  unrepentant  the 
last  time  I  saw  or  heard  of  him.  As  a  practicing 
physician  in  a  middle  Western  State,  he  had 
attained  renown,  wealth,  and  a  beautiful,  confid- 
ing wife,  who  has  no  knowledge  of  his  criminal 
past.  In  New  York  State  he  has  relatives  of 
affluence,  but  he  never  visits  or  communicates 
with  them.  It  is  as  though  he  were  dead. 


170 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


I  have  it  on  excellent  authority  that  his  life  is 
a  continnual  nightmare  of  apprehension.  Retri- 
bution personified  meets  him  in  giant  shapes,  at 
dawn,  in  the  noontime,  at  twilight,  and  in  the 
midnight  hour.  Once,  he  did  murder.  A  guar- 
dian of  the  law  stood  between  him  in  the  Cell 
and  freedom.  The  death  blow  was  dealt.  Now 
the  fear  that  the  law  will  find  him  out  conjures 
the  unexpected  rustle  of  a  leaf,  or  the  whistle  of 
the  wind,  into  giants  of  terror.  Though  these 
haunting  spectres  render  him  a  cringing  coward, 
yet  more  awful  is  the  constant  dread  that  the 
trusting,  unsuspecting  wife,  whom  he  loves  to 
madness,  will  hear  the  truth,  and  know  him  as 
"Tall  Jim"  the  Murderer. 

Still  another  dread  storms  his  soul,  and  is  ever 
whispering  in  his  frightened  ears,  "Beware!" 
The  officials  of  Sing  Sing  Prison  want  him,  and 
would  tear  him  away  from  the  companionship  of 
his  beloved  wife,  if  they  but  knew  where  to  find 
him — "Tall  Jim,"  who  owes  the  larger  part  of  a 
sentence  for  burglary  committed  more  than  a 
score  and  a  half  years  ago. 

All  these  secrets  he  has  buried  in  his  bosom. 
How  great  must  be  the  burden  thus  borne  in 
secret.  How  horrible  to  bear  it  alone,  to  live 
another  life  separate  from  that  of  his  adored 
wife,  and  of  which  life  he  would  not  have  her  a 
part  for  all  the  wealth  of  combined  worlds. 

And  unrepentant  "Tall  Jim,"  the  accomplished 
gentleman,  physician,  the  murderer,  the  fugitive 


171 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


from  justice,  the  deceiver  of  a  noble  woman, 
surrounded  by  wealth,  petted  by  society,  which 
believes  him  to  be  all  he  appears  to  be,  lives  on 
tormented  by  a  dread  so  horrible  that  it  must  be 
indescribable. 

Oh  God !  if  it  be  that  this  man  is  now  paying 
the  penalty  for  his  misdeeds,  how  great  must  the 
price  be.  I  would  that  "Tall  Jim"  were  of  a 
mind  to  cast  the  awful  burden  upon  the  all-sus- 
taining Power.  But  would  that  entail  a  full 
confession  of  his  sins  to  the  whole  world?  This 
question  I  have  asked  of  myself  times  innumer- 
able. Perhaps  so.  But  the  world,  the  law  and 
those  administering  it — what  would  they  all  say, 
or  do  ?  Forgive  him  ?  Nay,  nay,  nay !  The  world 
would  cry  out  in  horror,  and  recede  yet  further 
in  its  robe  of  self-righteousness.  And  what  of 
the  law  of  man?  Adamant,  it  would  claim  its 
due.  Inexorable,  it  would  rightfully  gather  in 
the  victim  who  offended  it.  There  would  be  no 
deviation  that  a  woman's  heart  might  remain 
undisturbed  in  its  supreme  love  and  wifely 
trust,  or  that  her  sweet  dignity  might  not  be 
brought  low  in  the  dust  of  a  blighting,  withering 
shame.  All  that  lofty  sentiment  which  appeals 
to  the  souls  of  those  bathed  in  the  milk  of  human 
kindness,  and  dwellers  in  the  realm  of  pity, 
would  be  crushed  low  by  the  wheels  of  the  swift 
moving  chariot  of  justice. 

But  what  of  God  ?  Would  He  lend  a  listening 
ear  to  "Tall  Jim's"  secret  prayer,  the  laying  bare 


172 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


of  his  sinful  soul,  and  lavish  on  him  the  peace  that 
passeth  all  understanding,  which  is  the  fruit  of 
Divine  forgiveness? 

It  is  not  for  me  to  know — that  is  a  problem  to 
be  solved  between  God  and  "Tall  Jim."  How 
could  I,  so  great  a  sinner,  know?  Nor  dare  I 
to  assume  to  judge  "Tall  Jim"  for  his  criminal 
deeds.  If  I  dared  to  attempt  to  pass  judgment 
upon  him,  my  humiliation  would  be  complete.  For 
how  manifold  were  my  transgressions  against 
God  and  his  Divine  law.  Unlike  "Tall  Jim,"  I 
never  took  the  life  of  man,  but  in  the  desperate 
calling  in  which  I  was  engaged,  it  might  have 
happened.  Inadvertently,  as  I  trust  it  was  in  his 
experience,  I  might  have  shed  blood.  Thanks  be 
to  His  holy  name  and  mercy,  my  soul  was  not 
thus  weighted.  But  what  more  could  I  say  to 
justify  myself  if  I  would?  Not  an  iota.  I  bow 
my  head  in  shame,  and  only  lift  it  at  the  word 
of  my  Lord  and  Master,  who  has  bidden  me  to 
look  and  live. 

Now  that  I  have  cast  myself  fully  on  the  lov- 
ing kindness  of  the  Redeemer,  the  dark  clouds 
that  hung  so  threateningly  over  me  have  been 
dissipated  by  the  warm  sunshine  of  Divine  ap- 
proval. I  am  traveling  on  a  highway  that  leads 
to  real  peace  and  happiness — Heavenward,  and 
not  to  perdition.  What  this  nearly  diametrical  al- 
tering of  my  course  has  meted  me,  is  too  great  for 
mere  language  to  accurately  and  adequately  por- 
tray. Whereas  all  was  darkness  and  uncer- 


173 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


tainty,  there  is  open  before  me  a  well-defined, 
perfectly  illuminated  Christian  vista,  whose  ten- 
dency is  ever  upward  and  away  from  the  low- 
lands of  sin  inhabited  by  the  cohorts  of  Giant 
Despair. 

While  this  highway  of  the  mountain  surely 
leads  to  God  I  am  mindful  of  its  narrowness  and 
difficult  windings,  and  how,  to  my  shame,  I 
have  slipped  to  the  wayside,  struggled  up  again, 
fallen  again  and  doggedly  pressed  onward,  ac- 
quiring, through  bitter  experience,  the  knowledge 
that  I  must  be  eternally  vigilant,  must  be  ever 
armed  with  an  unwavering  faith,  and  an  unalter- 
able belief  in  the  efficacy  of  prayer,  if  I  eventually 
possess  the  everlasting  Crown  of  Righteousness. 

Each  day's  travel  renders  the  journey  easier, 
puts  greater  distance  between  me  and  the  dis- 
carded burden  of  sin,  and  fits  me  to  better  tell 
of  the  joys  of  the  new  life,  to  those  who  yet 
pursue  the  ignis  fatuus,  which  is  dazzling  them 
onward  and  downward  into  the  quicksands  of 
procrastination,  where  are  heard  the  wailings  of 
the  hopeless  and  the  lost,  whose  vain  regrets  are 
voiced  in  the  awful  significance  of : 

"What  might  have  been." 

Oh,  would  I  were  able  to  tell  all  that'  God  has 
done  for  me.  I  would  shout  it  from  the  highest 
mountain  tops  so  that  all  might  hear,  know  and 
be  saved.  I  would  I  were  endowed  with  a  gift 
to  paint  a  vivid  picture  of  my  black  life,  and  yet 
another  one  of  the  different  man,  regenerated 


174 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


through  the  blood  of  Jesus  Christ  the  Saviour. 
In  one  picture  I  would  point  out  the  weary, 
friendless,  almost  crippled  old  man,  loaded  with 
his  unmanageable  pack  of  sin.  He  would  be  seen 
slowly  tottering  along  toward  the  inevitable 
grave,  his  weary  body  trembling,  and  his  ashen 
face  reflecting  his  hopelessness  in  a  fate  believed 
to  have  been  irrevocably  fixed. 

I  would  that  I  were  endowed  with  the  power 
to  show  the  helping  hand  of  God  outstretched 
toward  this  aged  man,  who,  realizing  his  last 
chance  for  salvation,  would  cry  out,  "Lord,  Lord, 
I  believe!" 

See !  The  great  pack  of  sin  then  rolls  from  his 
pitifully  bent  and  decrepit  old  shoulders.  The 
pain-inflicting  shackles,  clanking,  fall  from  his 
feet,  and  he  stands  erect,  another,  a  newer  man. 
His  face,  which  was,  but  a  moment  before,  a 
mere  mask  of  death,  lights  up  with  the  glory  of 
a  soul  illumined  of  God.  In  the  place  of  repining 
and  hopelessness,  there  is  new-born  joy  and 
laughter.  Eyes  once  dull  and  watery,  snap  with 
the  fire  of  regeneration,  and  hitherto  faltering,  un- 
musical lips  sing  loud  pseans  of  praise.  With 
buoyant  feet  and  flinging  arrris  the  inspired  soul 
bounds  along  in  the  highway  of  God,  beckoning 
wildly  for  his  fellows,  still  in  the  bondage  of  sin, 
to  hasten  on  and  join  him  in  his  belief  in  Jesus, 
Who  is  willing  and  anxious  to  save  them. 

Aye,  in  such  straits  God  found  me.  I  was 
spiritually  blind,  and  He  gave  me  sight.  I  was 


175 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


lame  and  halt,  plodding  along  in  the  broad  road 
of  sin,  and  God  set  me  on  my  feet,  and  bade  me 
run  in  the  King's  Highway  of  Righteousness. 

Come  out  of  the  ranks  of  sin,  oh,  fellow-man, 
and  believe  in  the  Redeemer  as  I  believe  in  him. 
Escape  from  the  awful,  the  final  penalty,  as  I 
have  escaped,  before  it  is  everlastingly  too  late. 
THE  END. 


176 


Joseph  J.  Rafter,  the  Redeemed  Printer 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


Nearly  eighteen  months  have  passed  since  the 
death  of  the  honored  and  much  loved  Superin- 
tendent Samuel  Hopkins  Hadley,  and  the  ap- 
pointment of  John  H.  Wyburn  to  the  office  of 
Superintendent  of  the  McAuley  Water  Street 
Mission.  It  was  at  Mr.  Hadley's  earnest  re- 
quest— a  request  that  came  a  few  days  prior  to 
his  death,  that  his  mantle  fall  upon  the  trained 
and  able  shoulders  of  the  man  with  whom  he  had 
long  been  associated.  At  the  time  of  the  earthly 
departing  of  Mr.  Hadley,  John  H.  Wyburn  had 
been  converted  seventeen  years,  and  the  greater 
part  of  that  period  had  been  spent  with  Mr.  Had- 
ley in  Mission  work  in  the  McAuley  Mission. 

What  Mr.  Hadley  thought  of  Mr.  Wyburn,  as 
his  successor  in  this  peculiar  labor  for  the  Lord, 
has  been  related  in  detail  in  several  pages  pre- 
ceding this  afterthought,  and  it  is  not  necessary 
to  reiterate  it  at  this  time.  Thousands  know 
Mr.  Wyburn,  and  tens  of  thousands  have  heard 
of  him  and  his  work.  As  a  Rescue-worker,  as 
a  man  of  faith,  of  prayer,  tenderness  in  love, 
patience,  forbearance,  pity  and  long-suffering  in 
treating  with  the  erring,  John  H.  Wyburn  is  the 
equal  of  any  man  living.  And  it  is  not  surprising 
that  it  is  so,  when  the  years  he  spent  in  the  work 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


with  that  Prince  of  Rescue-workers,  Mr.  Hadley, 
are  taken  into  consideration. 

In  the  past  months  the  work  of  the  Mission 
has  progressed  wondrously,  under  the  watchful 
and  prayerful  effort  of  the  beloved  Superintend- 
ent. The  interest  in  the  diligent  reaching  out  after 
weary  souls  lost  in  sin,  has  increased  greatly, 
and  the  testimonies  from  Converts  in  earnest  of 
it,  have  been  unusually  stamped  with  sincerity 
and  have  been  profoundly  convincing.  All  this 
happy  fruition,  has  been  the  result  of  a  largely 
increased  attendance  at  the  nightly  meetings.  Of 
those  saved  from  sin  very  recently,  many  have 
proved  themselves  to  be  remarkably  bright,  and 
evinced  a  capability  highly  gratifying  to  the 
devout  workers  of  the  Mission.  They  have  been 
aided  and  given  food,  shelter,  and  clothing,  until 
in  a  position  to  help  themselves.  A  large  per- 
centage of  these  have  secured  profitable  employ- 
ment, having  exemplified  the  truth  of  the  words, 
"They  sought  first  the  Kingdom  of  God."  These 
new  Converts  were  so  enthused  over  their  deliv- 
erance from  a  lost  condition,  that  they  have, 
ever  since,  been  telling  their  friends  to  resort  to 
the  same  remedy  to  cure  their  ills. 

Thus  the  work  of  the  Mission,  for  the  past 
months,  has  been  one  perpetual  revival.  Its  force 
of  laborers  has  been  largely  increased  through 
the  rending  of  the  chains  of  drunkenness  and 
kindred  evils,  and  these  men  happily  free,  stand 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


ready  to  go  anywhere  to  tell  the  story  of  deliver- 
ance— the  story  of  how  Christ  Jesus  proclaims 
liberty  for  the  captive,  and  how  he  stands  ready 
and  anxious  to  save. 

How  to  furnish  employment  for  the  Mission's 
Converts,  has  always  been  a  problem  for  serious 
consideration.  A  partial  solution  of  it  came, 
happily,  through  the  suggestion  of  Mr.  Joseph 
J.  Rafter,  that  a  printing  and  binding  company 
be  established  whose  employes  should  be  drawn 
from  the  Converts  of  the  Mission,  in  so  far  as 
they  could  be  utilized  to  promote  the  success  of  the 
enterprise.  The  suggestion  met  with  the  instant 
approval  of  Superintendent  Wyburn.  Mr.  Raf- 
ter, being  a  printer  of  national  reputation,  at 
once  became  an  important  factor  in  the  work  of 
creating  a  printing  company  on  the  lines  men- 
tioned. His  renown  as  an  artisan  in  his  profes- 
sion, peculiarly  fitted  him  into  the  plan  which 
soon  became  a  verity.  Working  in  perfect  uni- 
son these  energetic  Converts  of  the  Mission,  soon 
established  the  Seaboard  Press  with  Lee  L.  Crit- 
tenden  as  president,  for  the  purpose  of  doing 
general  printing.  Subsequently  it  was  decided 
to  add  book  publishing  to  the  enterprise  and  a 
separate  comjpany  was  organized  under  the  head 
of  the  Seaboard  Publishing  Company,  of  which 
John  H.  Wyburn  was  made  president.  Both 
institutions  were  incorporated  under  the  laws 
of  New  York  State,  and  are  now  thoroughly 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


equipped  with  the  most  modern  requirements  of 
the  trade,  including-  a  Linotype  Department.  As 
contemplated,  a  number  of  the  Mission's  Con- 
verts are  being  furnished  with  employment,  and 
as  rapidly  as  others  become  available  through 
knowledge  of  what  is  required  of  them,  they  will 
be  added  to  the  working  force.  Thus  far  the 
Converts  have  found  no  small  degree  of  assist- 
ance in  starting  out  in  the  Christian  life,  and  it 
is  the  earnest  desire  of  the  projectors  of  these 
companies  to  create  employment  for  as  many 
struggling  ones  who  are  young  in  the  espousal 
of  Christianity  as  possible.  To  realize  this  laud- 
able end,  the  Seaboard  Press  and  the  Seaboard 
Publishing  Company  must  expand  their  plants 
so  that  they  can  employ  hundreds  of  hands.  Suc- 
cess of  course  depends  upon  the  quality  of  work 
turned  out,  and  as  orders  are  multiplying  daily, 
the  prospect  of  a  largely  increased  business  in  the 
very  near  future  is  highly  gratifying  in  whatever 
aspect  the  enterprise  is  regarded. 

Mr.  John  S.  Huyler,  philanthropist  and  presi- 
dent of  the  Mission  believed  in  the  enterprise 
from  its  inception  and  came  to  its  assistance 
financially.  Consequently  the  success  hoped  for 
seems  absolutely  assured.  . 

At  the  present  time  the  Seaboard  Press  is  turn- 
ing out  all  kinds  of  modern  printing.  It  makes 
a  specialty  of  personal  embossed  stationery, 
cards,  etc.,  also  Church  calendars,  invitation 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


cards,  and,  in  fact  everything  required  by 
Churches  and  Christian  workers.  Christian 
friends  and  all  others  are  invited  to  inspect  the 
plants.  Also,  if  they  have  work  to  be  done,  Mr. 
Rafter,  the  chief  of  the  Estimating  Department, 
will  be  glad  to  furnish  estimates  on  short  notice. 

With  Mr.  Rafter  is  Lee  Crittenden,  also  widely 
known  in  the  printing  profession.  It  can  be  de- 
pended upon  that  first  class  work  in  every  particu- 
lar will  be  the  result  of  every  order  received. 

The  Seaboard  Publishing  Company  has  pub- 
lished several  books,  and  others  are  in 
press.  Among  these  are  "  From  'Boniface  to 
Bank  Burglar,"  and  "The  Penalty  and  Redemp- 
tion." As  a  work  of  art  in  the  printing  line, 
the  latter  easily  leads  the  list,  as  an  examination 
of  its  pages  will  reveal. 

Mr.  Rafter  was  also  a  member  of  the  editorial 
staff  of  the  Inland  Printer  of  Chicago.  The  edi- 
tor says : 

"Estimating  has  come  to  be  a  very  important 
factor  in  the  printing  business.  One  must  under- 
stand the  work  thoroughly  to  intelligently  make 
a  price  that  will  be  profitable  to  the  employer  and 
at  same  time  give  the  customer  the  benefit  of 
experience  and  knowledge  of  the  art.  We  have 
been  fortunate  in  securing  the  services  of  Mr. 
Jos.  J.  Rafter  who  is  one  of  our  foremost  printers, 
to  conduct  this  department,  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant of  the  paper.  We  have  many  times  been 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


delighted  in  looking  over  samples  of  his  work 
when  at  the  case.  He  is  a  practical  compositor, 
pressman  and  lithographer,  and  has  been  con- 
nected with  some  of  our  largest  concerns  as  super- 
intendent or  manager.  Printers  and  others  are 
invited  to  make  use  of  this  department.  You  will 
find  Mr.  Rafter  ever  ready  to  give  any  and  all 
information  requested." 

GEORGE  M.  WHITE. 


Penalty  ana  Redemption 


FROM  BONIFACE  TO 
|i|      BANK  BURGLAR 

OR 

THE   PRICE   OF  PERSECUTION 

HOW  A  SUCCESSFUL  BUSINESS  MAN,  THROUGH 

THE  MISCARRIAGE  OF  JUSTICE,  BECAME 

A  NOTORIOUS  BANK  LOOTER 


BY 

GEORGE  M.  WHITE 

ALIAS  GEORGE  BLISS 


Special  Price  to  Missions 
$1.00  net 


At  all  Booksellers  $1.50 


Penalty  and  Redemption 


NO.    275   WATER   STREET 

ZIBELL     BUILDING 

N  EW    YORK 


This  concern  was  organized  by  convert's  of  the 
Water  Street  Mission,  with  the  object  of  giving 
men  a  start  in  life,  and  helping  them  to  help 
themselves,  and  to  date  has  been  successful  be- 
yond expectations. 

At'  present  the  company  employs  many  con- 
verts permanently,  and  as  many  others  as  are 
required  for  miscellaneous  duty. 

Of  the  officers,  there  are  converts  who  owe 
their  present  condition  in  life  to  the  influences 
coming  from  the  Mission  and  its  officers. 

Our  plant  is  fully  equipped,  in  perfect'  working 
order,  and  we  solicit  printing  of  every  descrip- 
tion. 

Should  you  care  to  favor  us  with  a  portion  of 
your  work  we  shall  be  pleased  to  hear  from  you. 

THE  SEABOARD  PRESS. 


LEE  L.  CRITTENDEN,  President 

JOHN  H.  WYBURN,   Vict-Pre$ident 
JOS.  J.  RAFTER,  Treasurer 
RUFUS   A.   BROWN,  JR.,    Secretary 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

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